Wyatt

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Thick drifts of snow filled the canyon beyond their cave. Wyatt moved a half dozen pieces of wood from the second stack Quinn stole—transported. If they were to make this awkward alliance work, he would need to modify his thoughts. Within the mind was the power to landscape a person’s world.

While raising the children, Wyatt had been their sibling. He focused on being a brother and not a parent. Tell the same lie enough times, and it became a truth. Helping raise the children had been his privilege. Setting the logs onto the fire, he concentrated to keep the wind out of the cave.

He didn’t require the warmth, but Quinn had finally fallen asleep in the last half hour and she’d burrowed into her duster. The long jacket would keep the rain off, but it wasn’t the most practical for insulation. Her lips had gone almost colorless in the cold and her face was pale.

The light from the flames played over her, creating an orange and red cast. She was like him, she’d said. Created in retaliation for the magic his parents used to heal his brother and him. How the hell was that possible?

“If you have a question, ask it. Otherwise stop staring at me.” Her eyelids didn’t open, but he didn’t need to see the glow in them to taste the irritation in her voice.

“Magic always come at a price,” he began, squatting in front of her.

“Yes.” Her eyes opened to mere slits.

“If healing us created you, what did creating you cost?”

She shrugged. “My life? I don’t know. I’ve never found it. I know I was created to destroy you. Maybe when you’re gone, then I can rest.”

A reasonable argument. “You can’t kill me.” Hard to kill what was already dead.

“Maybe…maybe not.” She paused, then yawned before sitting forward and extending her hands to the fire. “Did you wake me up to find out if I can kill you?”

“No I woke you up because the magic my parents weaved was designed to heal my brother and me. My father was a powerful shaman from a long line of them. My mother came from a line of druids and witches.”

“A blood coven, bound by the bonds of family.” Canting her head, Quinn studied him. “You grew up with your father’s tribe. Did your mother ever tell you about her people?”

“Only that we should avoid them.” It was like turning over an ancient stone, aged and covered with moss. It didn’t want to move. Like looking back opened wounds he couldn’t drain. “They didn’t approve of her choosing my father.”

“They didn’t approve of your father taking your mother.” The dry response held no hint of mockery. “Her sister…her sister blamed your father. She said that he’d bespelled her.”

A snort escaped him. “If you’d ever known Alicia, you could never have pictured Golden Hair being bespelled by Morning Star.” His parents had been in love, and their loyalty to each other was absolute. When the tribes began to turn on them, their unity had grown stronger. Eventually, Morning Star accepted banishment rather than allow his people to ostracize his wife or his family. She’d loved his father long after his death. Wyatt would never forget the shimmer in her eyes when he’d found her again…

“You love them,” she said, her comment drawing him from the past. “They must have loved you.”

“They loved us too much.” He could admit the simple truth; it had cursed his whole existence. “They couldn’t bear to be apart from us, to let us go to an illness their medicines couldn’t cure.”

“You sound like you remember it.”

“There is nothing of my life I don’t remember.” Though he’d done his damnedest to forget at times. “What about you?”

“Much the same, though my life has been about carving away the darkness unleashed by their combining of magicks. You had to know that it would cause a ripple…”

Had he? “I was a child. What I am, I became as I aged. The Fever had already begun to spread by then. Tell me, do you believe a child to be responsible for the choices made by their parents? Are you responsible for the choices made by yours?”

For some reason, the second question flowed from him. Quinn hadn’t referenced her parents, other than to define them as both being of the Blood, native and foreign, as his had been. They weren’t the only half-breeds in the world, but they might very well be the only ones who could claim powered lineage on both sides.

“You make a compelling argument, but I’m not a scholar. I’m a warrior. I only know we exist and we shouldn’t…” The light of the fire added fresh shimmer to her blue eyes. He couldn’t quite tell if they glowed on their own or if it was merely a trick of the light.

“We shouldn’t?” Was he inviting disaster to challenge her theory?

“No, we shouldn’t. If you didn’t, then the Spirit Fever would not spread as it does.” Though they’d spent the night in the cave circling the same issue over and over, he’d found no chink in her armor. From the combination of weariness and irritation in her expression, she was similarly stymied.

“I would argue that if I shouldn’t exist, then the magicks my parents combined wouldn’t have worked.” Rising, he turned away from her and the fire. As long as it burned, it was better to keep his distance. If they began another fight, he didn’t need to risk spilling his blood amidst the flames.

“So you want to say that because you do, then you must, otherwise you wouldn’t?” The dryness in her tone pulled a smile from him. “You give me a headache.”

He didn’t give into the laughter, no matter how amusing he found her being irked at him. “I believe the world is as the world was meant to be.” His parents made a choice. They didn’t create destruction—he’d done that on his own. A careless act powered by selfishness.

That he was responsible for. Not the other.

“It’s still snowing.” She changed the subject, and a moment later she stood next to him. He hadn’t heard her move. Was she that stealthy or had she simply transported to appear at his side? “If he has one of his here to send this storm, they would have to be close.”

“Messing with the weather is delicate business.” Wyatt didn’t look at her. She’d freed her long dark hair and it stretched down her back. The length surprised him. Maybe it was spending the whole night in the cave with her, but he struggled to see how others saw a man and not a woman when they looked at her.

“Only if you care about how it may affect others.” Something in her tone alerted him.

“I understand you blame us for what happened to you, but what did he do to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I disagree.” Adam could be a cold-hearted bastard, but he often had a plan. If it benefited him, he would send an assassin, a Fevered, or other to create chaos and pain. It would surprise him more if Adam hadn’t acted against her. “You said he hunted those of the Blood.”

The son of a bitch had engineered the slaughter of Quanto’s wife and damn near killed Buck in the process. He’d…

“Yes. He was responsible for the deaths in the coven. He’s manipulated politicians and powerful men up north. When he wants something, he acts, but he never lets anyone see him do it.” Anger darkened her words. “It’s also pointless to sit here and discuss him as if we were talking about the weather. I’d rather discover if there is someone out there sending this storm at us, and deal with them.”

The disquiet shivering under each word entertained him “You’re bored.”

With a snap, she pivoted to face him and Wyatt allowed himself to smile. The blue of her eyes took on a gem-like quality as they began to glow. The firelight couldn’t reach them from here, so it was definitely her eyes. Pocketing the information, he weighed what it meant. Did they reflect her mood? The gathering of her power? Would they glow with similarly if he kissed her? Was she about to strike? Or wrestling with the desire to do so?

Wait. What?

“I’m not bored. Sitting in a cave with you accomplishes nothing. We will never convince each other of our viewpoints. You are as firm in your beliefs as I am in mine. We chose to work together, but not to discuss our personal histories.” Defensiveness turned into a weapon. He half-expected her to bludgeon him with it.

Interesting. “Without knowing where he or she might be located, we would simply be floundering in the snow.” He had no problem with eliminating the threat, if he knew where it was.

“If they’re out there,” she said, pulling her hair back and retying it before tucking the length beneath her collar. “I can find them.”

“Can you?” Intrigued, he studied her profile. Understanding her abilities would give him the advantage in defeating her. He valued solid tactical knowledge.

Stuffing her hat onto her head, she held out her hand with confrontation in her eyes. The challenge exploded into being between them. “Care to find out?”

---

Quinn

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Offering Wyatt her hand was a risk she was apparently willing to take. At this point, she simply wanted to get the hell out of the cave. Maybe it was being bound by the coven, or the years since when she’d hunted to protect the few remaining members. She preferred her own company. His presence filled every inch of the cave—his and the horse’s.

Being hemmed in by raw power made her skin itch. Worse, it made her head hurt, and she hadn’t lied earlier when she told him he was giving her a headache. Then his icy hand clasped hers as they locked gazes.

The tendrils of power linked and joined along her flesh, then seemed to sink inside. So damn cold. So. Much. Power. Her gift awoke, the gaping maw hungry to feast on the energy skating over her. Not reacting to the wild need the simple contact aroused, Quinn turned her attention elsewhere.

Fevered littered the ranch. The population density larger than any she’d encountered in a single area. Yet the ranch itself was protected.

“Quinn?” His voice intruded, but she shuffled it aside.

A barrier surrounded the ranch, a blessing of land and blood tying it inextricably to the Kanes. No Fevered crossed onto their lands that they did not invite. It was the act of invitation—whether they realized it or not—the genuine invitation that told the barrier the Fevered were welcome. The spirits dancing amidst the barrier would have otherwise assaulted the unwelcome.

In her mind’s eye, the writhing mass of nature coalesced into a hundred different forms, then sharpened to one face—that of a woman. She ignored Quinn, her attention focused on the main house. Yet the spirits continued to defend the land.

Once she located the parameters of the barrier, Quinn pushed past it and sent her gift hunting.

A squeeze from Wyatt tried to draw her attention, but she shook her head once even as she continued her search. The land beyond the ranch, however, was vast. She hunted for a needle in a…power surged through her and mind snapped to one location like the point of a compass venturing north.

Lightning seemed to dance over her skin, and her eyes opened. The cave shimmered around them and then they hurtled across the acreage until they stood atop a hill overlooking a stream fed valley. Snow crunched beneath their boots. Wyatt didn’t release her, but he turned to look at the layout below them.

Their canyon had been knee deep in snow, and the fat flakes continued to fall. The dark clouds overhead continued to flow toward the southeast. The powder covering their current position was not much more than a half-inch deep. Enough to paint a pristine picture, not enough to hamper movement.

Quinn jutted her chin toward the coalescing glare less than a quarter of a mile from their current position. The hill afforded them a wide-ranging view, and the only building in the region was a ramshackle looking cabin. The wood was still a deep shade of auburn, suggesting it had been constructed recently.

“Son of a bitch.” Wyatt exhaled the words. “How did you know he was here?”

“The Fevered can’t really hide from me,” Quinn admitted. There were too many on the ranch, it glowed like a beacon…or would, if not for the barrier. When she was on the ranchland itself, she had to close her inner eye.

Off the ranch, however, the swirl of power emanating from below was as clear as the sun on a warm spring afternoon. “Whoever it is, they have power and they are here, and not on the ranch itself.”

“It’s isolated,” Wyatt said, tugging her hand as he led them toward the trees. She pulled herself free, as she’d was more than capable of walking without assistance. The location she’d chosen offered them cover, and whomever she could sense was not outside, though a thin stream of smoke flowed upward from the chimney.

“Do you know all the Fevered who call the Flying K home?” She’d begun to identify the key players—the Kanes, and the rest of Wyatt’s siblings—the fact they called him brother had given her pause.

What about Wyatt Morning Star had driven them to claim him? The tingles of ice along her flesh vied with the electric awareness of the other Fevered. In her experience, they didn’t sense her presence as easily as she did theirs. No need for her to make a foolish mistake.

“Enough.” The vagueness of his answer told her more. His expression didn’t change while he stared intently at the building below. “If you were alone right now, what would you do?”

“Deal with them.” Two could play the vague verbal game.

“Define deal with them.” He spared her a cool look, though he seemed more curious than commanding.

“Why don’t you tell me what you would do?” No, she wouldn’t reveal everything to him. They were strangers, at best. The determination he showed to learn everything about her might have been flattering under other circumstances.

“Eliminate the problems.” Aggravation echoed within every syllable. “I don’t have time for games.”

“Nor do I. So follow me down, and we’ll see if this one is a problem or not.” Before he could grab her, she ported to the bottom of the hill, a few yards from the cabin. His half-curse still echoed in her ears.

Yes, it was time Wyatt Morning Star learned alliance didn’t mean command. Putting him out of her mind, she focused on the individual inside the cabin. Without hesitation, she strode to the door. Like she’d told Wyatt, she didn’t play games.

Raising her hand, she knocked.

Power looped around her like a lasso and jerked her backward. She landed a hundred feet from the house, the hard ground bruising her ass. Wyatt’s foreign energy locked her arms to her body and it took her a moment to absorb it. Gritting her teeth, she made it to her feet in time to see the front door open and a man stride outside.

Though man might be a generous description. He looked far more like a bear. A sudden rush of wind struck her, lifted her off the ground, and flung her even farther away, slamming her into a boulder—or maybe it was the side of another building. Dammit, she was too far away to affect him immediately.

Breath whooshing out, she tasted the power in the storm the bear rained down on her and it was definitely a storm. Sleet struck her like a thousand tiny blades, slicing at her skin. The rage of the wind tore away her hat and jerked her hair out in a wild array.

Spreading her fingers against the tide, she searched for the spark of his gift feeding the weather. Fighting to her feet, she braced her knees against the pure force pushing her away. She’d been trapped within far less fierce blizzards.

The cold ate at her, numbing her nose and cheeks. Even her eyes began to burn, but she unleashed the maw and inhaled the frenetic potency. The feeling in her fingers ceased, and blood froze against the edge of her nostril. So much for attempting to reason with the Fevered…as she consumed the flood of energy, the wind diminished and the bear let out a roar as he rushed forward.

He didn’t make it more than a half dozen steps before he collapsed. Advancing slowly, she continued to drain him. Wrestling her gift under control, she fought to keep from extinguishing his spark fully.

They had questions.

The man on the ground was suddenly yanked upwards and flung into the cabin. Then Wyatt stood in front of her.

The maw wanted more, but Quinn choked it off as she met Wyatt’s glare. He flicked a look over her. “You’re bleeding.”

“You’re an idiot.” Sidestepping him, she headed for the new hole he’d made in the side of the cabin. The stench of spoiled fish and refuse greeted her. Fingers still numb, Quinn tugged a bandana over her nose. Thankfully, the Fevered hadn’t been able to infuse his foulness into the storm he’d sent at her.

The man inside was down, and the faint, watery sound of his breathing promised he wouldn’t last.

“Be careful.” Wyatt cut her off with an arm. “You shouldn’t have just walked up to the damn cabin.”

“You shouldn’t have thrown me clear it of it.” Ignoring his hesitation, she took a knee in the refuse and gripped the fallen man’s chin with one icy hand. She was so cold, she didn’t think she’d ever be warm again.

Turning his head, she searched his vacant gaze even as he rattled out a final breath.

“Wonderful. You killed him.” Now they couldn’t get any answers.

“You’re welcome.”

Rising, she went toe to toe with him. Damn, he was tall. Few men could top her, but he’d managed it. “Listen here, you arrogant jackass. You kill them and sort them out later. I can usually talk them down and, when that fails, I’m close enough to take them out with little harm. Don’t get in my way again.”

Unmoved by her speech, he intercepted her when she would have walked around him. “Witch, you wanted a partnership. That means we move together, not you run off on your own. I can’t protect you if you aren’t at my side.”

Sore, frozen, and annoyed, she slammed her fist into his shoulder and he gave a step, allowing her to pass. “I don’t need your protection.”

“Maybe not, but if you want MacPherson, you need me.” He had her there, but she didn’t need anyone.

“Go to hell.”

“Clean up, I’ll wait.”

The urge to shoot him had never been so strong, but she stalked away from Wyatt and the foul corpse.

Where there was one, there would be more. She had to focus on that for the moment and not on how easy it would be to test the theory that she couldn’t kill him.

Her shotgun would make a great start.