Timeless Vision (11 page)

“I am grown,” he snapped. He halted when she gripped his arm to prevent him from barreling through the crowd of people waiting to cross a busy street.

It was all he could do to breathe. He understood her meaning but he did not have the luxury now of time to understand the inherent threats of this time and place. There were too many people sharing the same air, air clogged with choking fumes and unfamiliar scents. Going after the witch alone might be unwise, even if it put her and her cousin in danger.

“How does anything live here?” he asked, his voice rasping.

Sterling leaned against his thigh. Tara curled her hand over his arm. They gave him shelter and comfort he was too pathetic to deny. Their gestures shamed him nearly as much as they helped.

He felt weak as a boy, his broadsword weighing heavy on his back, dragging at his shoulder. He’d taken on too much - then and now - attempting to interrupt the witch’s plan. He didn’t have the knowledge or power to defeat her. The buildings towered over him, closed in. He longed for the quiet of a horse and forest. His only thought was to get back to his time, to get away. Away from the people, the noise, the girl at his side.

It was all too much... too much to bear. The people around them moved forward, but his legs refused to cooperate. The burden of life and magic, history and hopelessness, pressed in on him until his knees gave out. He couldn’t breathe. The hound barked. The woman spoke and all he heard was gibberish. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now that she had control. He was no match against the plans of a powerful witch. Useless and small, he saw with perfect clarity the utter failure of his quest.

The hound bit his hand, clamping down with enough pressure to bring Wayne back from the brink. He looked down into Sterling’s dark eyes. Shaking his head, he battled against the overwhelming messages of disaster intended to weaken him.

“Where are you hiding, Morgana,” he muttered, searching for the witch who’d been aiming her delusions at him.

“Taxi!” Tara’s shout cleared away the rest of the mystical haze and as the sounds and myriad sensations of the city rushed at him from all sides, he felt his strength returning.

“Show yourself!” he roared. The people nearby shied away at his outburst. Desperate, heedless of the consequences, he cast an illumination spell.

He spotted her standing brazenly near the corner of a building across the street, her glossy hair shining under the glow of a streetlight. She appeared damned healthy after being locked away for centuries, away from any contact to the human or magic realms. “There.” He elbowed Tara, urging her to confirm what he saw, but the woman fled, the tails of a dark cloak swirling as she ducked out of his sight.

As he moved to follow the blasted witch Tara pulled him toward the open door of the yellow vehicle stopped at the curb. Soon he was confined, wedged between the woman and his hound. “Did you see her?”

Tara didn’t answer him, her attention was on the driver shouting at her through the clear divider between the seats. Tara gave him an address Wayne didn’t recognize.

“We can’t leave,” he protested, twisting around in the seat. Morgana must be found, captured, and stopped. Forever this time. “We must follow her!”

“Not tonight.”

“I saw her,” he argued as the taxi took them further from his goal.

“Me too.” Tara shuddered. “I think we all did,” she added, looking past him to the dog.

“Then we must -”

“Get you to a hospital,” she retorted. “Somewhere safe.”

“No.” He couldn’t let that witch gain a foothold in this world. “We must go back and find her.”

“Not tonight.” She raised her hand quickly to his face and instead of the slap he expected, she gently swiped the spot between his nose and lip. She held her thumb to the light, showing him the result. “You’re bleeding.”

“Impossible. The man at the bar -”

“Barely touched you.” She opened her bag and pulled out a wispy square of paper. “I know. Use this to put pressure on it.”

She pressed the soft paper to his skin, then moved one of his hands up to take over the task. He blotted and dabbed, shocked by the blood he saw. “This is from the wi-”

“Woman?” Tara said over him, with a sideways look at the driver. “Yes. She sucker punched you.”

He wasn’t clear about that phrase, but supposed her twisting of the conversation was for the driver’s benefit. How had Morgana taken him unawares? His temper simmered, fueled by the embarrassment of being manipulated so easily. The witch had made him bleed.

He was
better
than this. Or he had been at one time. Whether it was a lingering effect of the witch’s attack, or simply the brutal truth slamming home, Wayne worried he would not be able to fulfill his quest and conquer Morgana.

Chapter Seven

Tara knew the tissue was relatively useless against the rapidly flowing nosebleed, but it had to suffice until they reached the hospital. She wanted Wayne checked out immediately.

Something had gone terribly wrong tonight. He’d been weird at the bar until Sterling intervened and started the fight. On the street, one moment he’d been bigger-than-life strong, the next he was collapsing. He’d crumpled in slow motion, as if someone was letting air out of a Wayne-shaped balloon.

The woman across the street wearing that smug expression didn’t piss Tara off as it should have done. It terrified her. Wayne was bleeding for no good reason and she had to hope modern medicine could help.

She hadn’t missed his mention of Morgana. Could it be possible the notorious, twisted witch was here in the 21
^st
century? One glance at Wayne and his dog and she realized the silliness of her question. However they’d leaped through time, it was definitely possible. Not only that, whoever stole her dagger and attacked them had a distinct advantage right now.

“I’m texting Nick,” she said, pulling out her cell phone. Her cousin knew far more than he’d let on and she wanted answers. “The bar too. I hate that we ran out on that fight.”

“Fight?” the cabbie asked. His eyes narrowed in assessment as he studied her through the rearview mirror’s reflection. “No criminals.” He pulled to the curb. “The dog is bad enough. You get out. I don’t drive criminals.”

She was done with obstacles and challenges for tonight. “We’re
not
criminals,” she assured him. When he protested again, she leaned forward and sweetly requested his green card.

The cabbie wisely turned his attention to the street and turned the corner, taking the shortest route to the hospital.

“What’s a green card?” Wayne asked quietly.

“I’ll explain later.” She didn’t want to admit she wouldn’t follow through on the threat. “You’re leaking.” He frowned and she pointed to her nose. “Blood.”

“That should have stopped,” he muttered from behind the soaked tissue.

She agreed. Before she could assure him the doctors would help, a text message came through from Nick.
No hospital.
 
Get to the house.

Tara rolled her eyes. “Change of plans,” she leaned forward and gave the cabbie the address for the brownstone.

“No.” The cabbie braked hard in front of the hospital. “One stop only.”

“Aw, come on,” she fired back. “I’ve got cash.”

He shook his head. “No criminals. Get out.”

“Do something,” she whispered at Wayne. “Can’t you change his mind?”

He closed his eyes for a moment and then shook his head. Aggravated, she pulled a twenty dollar bill and pressed it to the divider. “It’s been a bad night, mister,” she began, summoning a smile. “We’ll tip big, I promise.”

The cabbie hesitated, his eyes darting from her to Wayne and the dog and back again. “You won’t leave blood in my car.”

She raised her hand as if she was taking an oath. “I promise.”

When he nodded, she gave him the money. When he put the cab in gear, she sagged against the seatback. “Is it getting worse?” she asked, handing Wayne another tissue.

“Yes.” He sounded stuffy as he covered his nostrils with the tissue.

“You’ve tossed around spells,” she murmured the word, “right and left today. Why can’t you do something to stop the bleeding?”

“I do not know.”

His honesty didn’t make her feel any better. She shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets to chase away the chill. Staring out the window only sharpened the leading edge of her paranoia as every shadow turned into a potential threat.

Searching for a distraction, she pulled out her phone. “Look at this.” She showed Wayne the pictures she’d caught during the bar fight. “This tattoo was on the guy who came at me. Is it some symbol of Mor- our situation?”

“It was on the man with the knife as well.” The muscle in Wayne’s jaw jumped as he ground his teeth. Sterling shifted, flopping his head across Wayne’s thigh for attention.

She tucked her phone back in her pocket. “I’ll look into it.” Once they were behind protective wards and Wayne stopped bleeding. “Maybe Nick will have some idea.”

This morning her world had made sense, despite the theft of the family dagger. Tonight she wondered if anything would be sensible again. Everything she thought she knew and understood had flipped upside down with Wayne’s arrival and the repeated magical attacks. And she wasn’t foolish enough to believe it was over.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the ride. When they exited the cab in front of the brownstone, Tara gave the driver a hefty tip and then eyed Sterling for any sign of trouble. It was a relief to see the dog calm and his ears at the mildly curious point. “Good boy,” she said, patting his head while Wayne did his thing with the mystical protections.

Inside they dispensed with coats, and she removed Sterling’s collar and leash. The dog made a beeline for the living room and curled up on the couch. It was so normal, she had to smile.

“To the kitchen,” she said to Wayne. They needed to take care of that nosebleed before anything else.

“It is subsiding,” Wayne protested.

“Not fast enough.” She replaced the bloody tissues with a folded dishtowel. “Take a seat,” she said, nudging him toward the counter stool. He slipped the sword and scabbard over his head and laid it within reach behind him. She placed his thumb on the pressure point between his lip and nose. “Press here. Hard,” she directed.

“Not how it’s normally done,” he muttered.

“Pardon me. Was your way working?” He’d tipped his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose as well as his nostrils during the cab ride, with no success. “Is it...” The question had to be asked, no matter how weird. “... is it a spell or something?”

His gaze slid past her to the hound, then to the doors leading away from the kitchen. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook.

“I was there,” she said, “You were fine during the fight, but before that and then on the street you weren’t yourself.” It was the safest description.

His sky blue eyes, clear now, met hers with a sizzling intensity as something hot flared between them like an electrical current. Was he angry that she’d noticed his trouble? Maybe he was embarrassed the witch had fooled him twice in the span of a few hours.

“Was it really Morgana out there?” Surely he couldn’t blame himself if they’d been outmaneuvered by the most powerful witch of his time.

“Forgive me.” His gaze drifted to a spot somewhere past her ear. “I was reckless tonight. I won’t put you in danger that way again.”

Why dodge the question?
She tipped his battered face toward the light for a better look. “You didn’t look entirely reckless to me.” From her perspective in the bar, he’d looked magnificent when he’d leaped into the fight. She didn’t tell him that. She shouldn’t admit the observation to herself.

He remained quiet, staring at her as he pressed his thumb to his face.

She decided not to push him for answers or explanations. Not yet. Retrieving the first aid kit she’d found under the kitchen sink earlier, she soaked several paper towels and prepared to clean him up.

It was her turn to care for him. He’d shielded her and helped her recover from that magical attack in the office. Now his knuckles were scraped and he had a deep cut over his brow that arrowed into his hairline. He’d taken a fist to the cheekbone and the wound was splitting thanks to the swelling underneath. All because he stepped up to protect her.

“Let me see,” she said, gently moving his hands away from his face. His fingertips brushed hers, sending a flash like a sparkler zipping along her nerves. She felt foolish that it required a concerted effort to return her attention on his injuries rather than linger on that alluring awareness. To her immense relief the nosebleed was done. “The bleeding’s stopped.” She used one of the damp paper towels to wipe away the dried blood.

She took a step back in a brief attempt to reclaim her sanity, to catch a breath that wasn’t full of his masculine scent. Only an idiot would start crushing on a knight from the past. The emotions, hormones and attraction would only complicate an already difficult situation.

Difficult? Ha! Try impossible. She needed to cling to her logic and analysis, the tools that made her a successful businesswoman. That started with asking smart questions about what she’d observed and felt since he’d walked out of the past and into her present.

“Tara.”

“Tip your head back,” she instructed, using a fresh paper towel to clean the wounds on his forehead and cheekbone. Despite her focus, her brain registered every marvelous sensation of his thick hair under her hand and the rough brush of his whiskers against her knuckles. “You have a bit of glass in here.” She released him for a moment to fish the tweezers out of the first aid kit.

“I can take care of it.”

“Hold still.” If she let him take over, she didn’t have an excuse to stay close. “I’ve got it.” He did as she asked and soon the wound was clean. “That should heal without much of a scar.”

“I’m used to scars, Tara.”

Yes, she remembered the maze of them on his torso. She shot him a sideways look under her lashes. “Well, good for you. I’m not used to men acquiring them on my account.” Cracking the instant ice pack, she laid it on his cheek. “Hold this on your cheek for a few minutes. It will reduce the swelling.”