Tormented by Darkness (13 page)

She set her fingers beneath his chin, lifting his head. When he opened his eyes, she gave him a smile that came from her heart. “I guarantee you can’t.”

The magic enveloping them shattered. Mick eased himself off her body and picked up his jeans. “Trust me. I can. I’m not what you think I am. I’d rather shoot the bastards I arrest than put them away. I have control issues. And trust me, sweetheart,” a cruel smirk twisted the corner of his mouth, “I have urges you haven’t begun to consider.”

He yanked on his jeans, snatched up his shirt, his jerky movements evidencing disgust. “That?” Mick nodded at where she lay, her naked body still stretched out on the grass. “I could keep you in bed for days and never get enough of you. And I don’t give a damn who might interrupt us.

“You think you love me.” With a fierce tug, his shirt snapped over his head. “God help you, I’m in love with you. But trust me, Rhiannon, this is a disaster. And it isn’t going to end well. You’re too good for me.” He strode to the tent to yank out another stake.

Rhiannon’s thoughts zeroed in on what she was certain he hadn’t meant to say. He loved her.
He loved her.
And for some foolish, crazy reason he thought she’d find him lacking. That she, daughter of an incubus, was too good for him.

Time to set some things straight. Sitting up, she eased into her clothing, then folded her hands in her lap. “Mick. We need to talk. The man who attacked me was my father. Tonight, I’m going to help kill him.”

As Mick whipped around, his expression incredulous, tires crunched up the drive. Her brothers were here. She’d prayed for their arrival. Now, she had a real chance at gaining Mick’s support, and she wished like hell her brothers would go away.

****

As a cherry red pickup rolled up the hill, Rhiannon’s voice clanged in his head.
I’m going to help kill him.
He had to have heard her wrong. No way could she be serious. If she was, why would she tell
him
? He was a cop, for god’s sake. While he might have just confessed his darker thoughts, he was bound to take her in. Even if the man had committed murder.

He shoveled both hands through his hair and exhaled hard. “Don’t be ridiculous. If he’s up here and you know where he is, we’ll take him in, sweetheart. But I can’t stand here and let you exact revenge.”

Not to mention, from the looks of things, her father was still young enough to turn her into a bloody pulp. Mick took her by the hand and pulled her forward, out of the thick shadows of the overhanging tree, into the moonlight filtering through the canopy where he could better read her expression. Gauge just how serious she was.

He did a double take as he noticed the scratch on her face. He could have sworn when he’d brought her back here it had been deep and jagged. Like a ring filleted the thin skin over her cheekbone. Now it looked more like she’d had a slight go-round with a protruding tree branch. A narrow one at that.

“Rhiannon, that was really your father?”

The pickup rolled to a stop beside her SUV, and the engine cut off. Mick glanced at the opening doors, then back at Rhiannon. He lowered his voice. “You can’t. I won’t let you. I mean it, Rhiannon—whatever you’re planning, it isn’t going to happen.”

“Mick, he’s a demon.” Her fingers squeezed his. “I don’t have a choice.”

What the hell was she talking about? Everyone had a choice. He could understand wanting to hurt her father as well as the next man, but carrying through on that was her choice.

“Rhi!”

Rhiannon turned at the hearty masculine bellow, easing her hands out of Mick’s. He looked beyond her at the rangy figure approaching. Hair that matched hers dusted his shoulders, and he bore the same identical tattoos on his face. His stride was quick, his smile genuine—and the look in his blue eyes when they settled on Mick was full of hate.

Her twin. Rather the brother who was
like
her twin but born on a different day. Joy. He hadn’t even said a word to this man and was already on his bad side.

“Dáire!” Rhiannon threw her arms around the man’s neck and hugged him tight.

Just seeing her in another man’s arms sent a rush of fury storming through Mick’s veins. He didn’t care if the man was her brother, the effect was like watching her launch herself into a former lover’s arms. He choked down the urge to grab her by the braid and draw her out of that familiar embrace, and forced himself to smile.

Jesus, chill.

A couple approached the twin-like sister and brother, their hands intertwined, the glance they shared before they turned their attention on Rhiannon laden with affection. The woman’s short hair whipped into her face, and she let go of the blond man’s hand long enough to push the belligerent lock behind her ear. Long enough for that man too to draw Rhiannon into an affectionate hug.

Mick shifted his weight, offering the woman a cordial nod. He’d never felt so out of place in his life.

“Miranda Phillips, soon to be McLaine.” As she smiled, she stuck her hand out to shake Mick’s.

He clasped it firmly. “Mick Farrell.” His gaze skipped to her left hand, where moonlight kissed a tasteful diamond.

“Mick, this is my brother, Cian.” Rhiannon patted the blond man’s shoulder. “And my brother, Dáire.” She leaned into the redhead’s side and tipped a happy smile to his face. “This is Mick.”

Cian stepped forward to shake Mick’s hand as well. “Pleased to meet you.” His expression lacked the animosity of Dáire’s, and his tone was genuine.

Mick shook, added a little emphasis to the clench of his fingers, then released Cian’s hand. In effort to alleviate whatever tension clung to Dáire, he offered his hand to Rhiannon’s twin. Might as well break the ice first. As her twin, he suspected he’d be seeing a lot of this one.

“Mick Farrell.”

Dáire’s icy blue gaze shifted to Mick’s hand before registering on his face. Jaw tight, those eyes that matched Rhiannon’s like a mirror image, narrowed.

Mick prided himself on his ability to read people and the instinct that always seemed to save his hide at the last minute. This time, he didn’t even see it coming. One second he was standing with his hand in offering, the next he laid flat on his back in a bed of leaves. The entire right side lit up like fire.

“Dáire!” Rhiannon screeched.

Stunned, Mick blinked up at the stars. Fucking great. Not exactly how he’d planned to meet her brothers.

A shadow loomed over him, but Mick didn’t need light to know which brother it was. Damn shame the man chose this day to cold cock him without so much as a hello. Between Steve’s funeral, Rhiannon’s attack, and realizing he was in love, he’d had just a bit too much more than his rational brain could handle. Right about now, he’d welcome a chance to spend all that mixed up emotion, and her twin had just provided the perfect outlet.

Anger rocketed through his bloodstream, and he twisted to his side. Yeah. The perfect fucking outlet. He was in dire need of an old-fashioned fistfight.

As he set one foot on the ground, Dáire hunkered down at Mick’s side. A self-satisfied smile danced on his mouth. Mick clenched his hand, gathering the rest of his scattered wits.

Strong fingers locked onto Mick’s forearm. “
Fòghnaidh
.”

Mick threw his shoulder, attempting to dislodge Dáire’s hold. But to his astonishment, he couldn’t move.
What the fuck?

With an amused chuckle, Dáire pushed on Mick’s shoulder, forcing him to sit on the ground. “That’s for using my sister, asshole.”

In the next blink, his hands were tied behind his back. He glanced up, astonished to find the other brother holding Rhiannon back by the elbows. So much for first impressions—that one evidently relished this as much as the first. He struggled against his bindings, but impossibly, he couldn’t get so much as a finger to cooperate. What the hell had they done to him? Injected him with something? He searched his mind, trying to recall a pinprick, a stab of pain—anything that would explain his sudden inability to move.

No matter how he tried, he found nothing.

Chapter Fifteen

Rhiannon twisted against Cian’s firm hold. “Dáire! What are you doing? It’s against the natural laws to use magic on someone against their will!” She struck out with her foot, driving her heel into her oldest brother’s foot. “Let me go, damn it, Cian! Since when did you resort to this kind of crap?”

Chuckling, her brother relaxed his hold on her elbows. “You’re still my sister. And I’m still not good with you being hurt.”

“Hurt?” She whirled around. “Mick hasn’t hurt me!”

Confusion pulled Cian’s high brows into a deep furrow. He pointed at the marks on her face. “I thought…Dáire said you were in pain…”

Rhiannon threw her hands into the air. “You thought wrong. That’s from our father.” She blew out a harsh breath. “Drandar showed up when I went to get firewood.” She turned her frown on Miranda. “Why didn’t you stop these fools?”

“I tried. Dáire threatened to do that,” she pointed at Mick, “to me.” Shaking her head, Miranda feigned a shudder. “No thank you.”

Yes that. Slowly, Rhiannon turned around, letting her glare burn full bore into Dáire. “What in the name of the ancestors is wrong with you?” When she had pivoted so she could see Mick once again, she closed her eyes on an inward groan. “Light the fire, Dáire. Do something useful.”

Inhaling, she braved the shadows and ventured to Mick’s side. His eyes latched onto hers, the only part of his body the spell would allow him to use. In those dark, fathomless depths, fury glinted. Rage he’d undoubtedly unleash on all of them if she lifted the magic.

She dropped to her knees at his side, reached around behind him, and yanked on Dáire’s loose knots. “I’m sorry. So sorry.” When the short length of rope fell free, she carefully moved his hands in front of his body and laid them in his lap. “I meant it too—my father is a demon. I share half his soul.”

Mick’s eyes narrowed. Disbelief flickered before anger surfaced once again. She could almost hear the snort he would let out if Dáire hadn’t turned him into a motionless statue.

“I wanted to tell you, Mick.”

His gaze dropped to where her fingers stroked the back of his hand, and she felt the sting in her bones. He didn’t want her touching him. Whatever had lighted between them moments ago, Dáire had effectively squelched. Her heart twisted, and with that stabbing pain, her eyes misted over. She sniffed the unwelcome tears back.

Reluctantly, she tucked her hands between her bent knees. “You’re under a spell,” she murmured. “For your safety, I’m keeping it intact. Drandar—my father—vowed to take your life.” She lifted her gaze to the overhanging tree boughs. “This birch is the strongest protection against evil known to nature. He can’t touch you here.”

Behind Rhiannon, fire crackled to life, illuminating the shadows on Mick’s face. Though he couldn’t wield it, anger loomed in the harsh lines of his jaw, the tight corners around his eyes. His energy rolled off him in waves, blasting her with one furious fist after another. She stiffened against the assault and forced her gaze level with his once more. Whether he believed her or not, didn’t matter. She needed to tell him the truth—all of it.

“My mother was the Selgovae’s last high priestess. Drandar seduced her into loving him and giving him equal status within our tribe.”

Mick rolled his eyes.

Ignoring his disbelief, she pressed on. “There were sixteen of us born. Eight were sacrificed at birth, their blood a tool to give my sire power. The eight who survived, our mother sent us away. When Drandar realized she’d deceived him by faking still deaths and early deliveries, he imprisoned her in the otherworldly plane.”

Rhiannon reached behind her to their piled belongings and pulled her duffle bag closer. As she fished inside for the ancient writings, she willed herself not to look away from Mick’s furious glare. “Before he did, though, she recorded the means of destroying him. She sent her spell book away with my aunt. We’ve searched for it for centuries.”

As if he laughed aloud, Mick’s gaze mocked her. Again, her heart knotted. She knew how she sounded, what he must think. That he would perceive her as insane as the men he locked away, even for one minute, made it impossible to hide the tears that pooled in the corners of her eyes. They spilled over, trickling down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of one wrist.

With the other hand, she pulled the ritual from her bag. “These papers, the ones you found in your attic, are part of my mother’s spell book. They hold the second ritual of what we presume is eight. Each one damages my sire. That’s why he attacked me. Why he wants your death. If all are performed, he will cease to exist.”

She wiped at her cheeks again and sniffled. “You hate me now, I’m sure. But there’s another reason you’re here, Mick. That dark part of me, the part my father contributed over two thousand years ago, is cursed. If I fall in love, I will kill the one I’ve given my heart to.”

Like she’d slapped him, she felt him recoil. Where amused mockery had lighted his gaze seconds before, fury returned. She reached for his hand once more, intent on assuring him she meant him no harm.

“We’re ready, Rhi. Hurry it up. It’s late. We don’t have a lot of time left,” Dáire barked.

Damn. This was all happening so fast.

A quick glance at the skies overhead, however, told her Dáire was right—they didn’t have a lot of time. The heavens aligned, approaching the hour of magic, and they didn’t know how long the ritual might take. While it was shorter than Cian’s, the calls it required might involve more waiting. More raised power.

She looked over her shoulder at Cian, seeking strength from the brother who had walked in her shoes only a few short months ago. He alone could possibly understand the agony she was going through right now. How it felt to have no choice and want to shield the one person who meant the most from the truth.

Cian approached quietly, a small box knife in his hand. He hunkered down beside her. “You can sort this all out later, Rhi. Either it will mend, or it will break,” he murmured quietly. “Unless you want him to suffer, we must do this now.”