Quinn

Somewhere in Arkansas

Six days on the trail…

---

The rain drove them into limestone caves. Chilled to the bone, Quinn kept her chin down even as the rain rolled off the brim of her hat in rivulets. She would have pressed onward, but Wyatt made the call—well, more accurately, his horse did. The stallion with a mind of his own simply turned off the rocky trail they’d been trying to follow and began to climb. Her gelding followed him without question. At the entrance to the cave, Wyatt dismounted and strode inside.

The stallion waited less than a minute before walking in behind him. Quinn swung out of the saddle and patted a gloved hand against the gelding’s neck. The poor thing shivered, but he didn’t balk as she guided him out of the rain. The interior of the cave was dark, and the poor light beyond didn’t penetrate the gloom.

Since Wyatt’s startling revelations two days before, he’d resumed his silent treatment. Rarely did he offer a comment or say more than “Wood” or “Fire.” Though she’d watched for it, she hadn’t seen him eat or sleep. When she nodded off, he’d sit there awake, and when she woke, he’d still be staring into the darkness.

The man puzzled her. Shivering, she realized she’d been seeing her own breath for several hours. Once inside the cave, she wasted no time stripping her poor horse of the gear and then pulling out a semi dry blanket from the roll on the back of her saddle.

“Wood,” Wyatt ordered, but she ignored him. First, she’d get the horse dry, then she’d cover him with the driest blanket they had left.

Outside, the rain increased and lightning danced once through the sky. The energy of it zinged along her nerves. Quinn paused mid-stroke, to look outside. The tempest roared outside the cave. Water poured so fast, it looked like a waterfall cascaded over the entrance. The wind didn’t invade, nor the rain.

Wyatt was keeping it out.

He gripped her shoulder, his fingers firm. “Wood.”

“I’m not a dog,” she said with a snarl, then shook off his touch. “I’ll get the damn wood in a minute. The horse is freezing.” The long ride, the bad weather, and the lack of rest could wear down even the strongest animal. Goliath didn’t seem the worse for wear, but there was something distinctly unnatural about his horse.

Kind of like the man who rode him.

Wyatt’s eyes narrowed. At some point he’d stripped off his hat, and his hair clung to his damp face. His blue eye glowed, and his lips compressed into a thin white line. Lightning flashed outside, highlighting the harsh planes of his face. “I’m not treating you like a dog.”

“We’ll agree to disagree.” She wasn’t in the mood for a fight. What she wanted, was to portal ahead and find a hotel with a bed and maybe a bath. Steam began to rise from the horse’s withers as she kept rubbing the excess water off. The blanket was going to reek. If she knew where the gear was that she needed, she could just bring it to her. The ability to fetch something was limited by knowing where it was. The wood, she’d memorized. And she had more than a dozen locations ahead she could take them. “Why the hell are we slogging through this mess when we could make it to another town in the blink of an eye?”

Instead of answering, Wyatt pulled a blanket from his gear and went to work on rubbing her horse down. Not looking at her, he said, “When you transported the McKennas, and returned. You damn near collapsed.”

No, she hadn’t. Sure, she’d been tired. It had been a blind port, with three other people and horses after she’d fought the Kanes and Morning Stars earlier, then Wyatt later. “You think I can’t handle my own abilities?” It was insulting. Who the hell did he think…?

“Woman, I didn’t say you couldn’t, but too many act as though they are invincible. Why weaken you dramatically when we could be ambushed at any moment?” The growl in his tone raked over her. “Adam will be searching for me. He knows I’m coming. Every person that sees us is a potential threat. Or did the weather Fevered not teach you any lessons?”

Age, she’d learned, often included arrogance. Apparently, Wyatt was not immune to the disorder.

“It taught me you think you don’t trust anyone else or understand what I can do. If you had, my ribs wouldn’t be bruised to hell.” Aggravated, she considered putting him on his ass. Power surged in the cave, and her skin rippled as though every hair on her body stood on end. Fury ignited in his gaze as he swept it over her.

Readying herself, she dropped the blanket and the maw within her expanded, ready to consume whatever he threw at her. Then Goliath let loose with an ear-splitting whinny. Quinn’s horse jerked, and only her automatic hand to his neck and Wyatt’s on the animal’s rump kept him from bolting.

The startle punctured the rising tension enough for Quinn to quirk a smile. “I believe your horse agrees with me.”

“Traitor.” The muttered comment from Wyatt pulled a real grin from her. She wasn’t the only one who thought as much.

At least the gelding wasn’t shivering, and the force Wyatt exerted against the opening kept the wind out. In fact, he was doing his part. They’d had a shelter of some sort each evening, often procured through Wyatt’s abilities, while she brought in wood. They’d worked together.

Today she was cold, sore, and already tired of their journey. It was as though her skin itched on the inside. All they did was ride, and ride, and ride. The lack of conversation didn’t normally irk her, but the lack of real action seemed to be feasting on her.

“Will you bring in the wood?” Wyatt said, then added with a slow sigh, “please?”

She didn’t need social pleasantries, but the lack of snarling order eased her some. “I can…” She only had to picture the wood in her mind, and then she lassoed it and the stack appeared near the opening. Even with the flashes of lightning, she didn’t want to put it behind them. Better to have the fire where they could vent the smoke.

As cold as they all were, and with wet gear, she decided two stacks was better than one. She called the second, it appeared and landed with a thump. The world shivered for a moment, and abruptly the world seemed to shift sideways. Power clutched at her, unfamiliar, cold, and almost inky in its substance. It glided over her, then tried to slide inside as though a blade between the ribs.

The maw within her opened, and she swallowed the power assaulting her. Whatever—whomever—it was fought for purchase, and she grabbed hold, leveraging her ability against the attack. Bile burned in her throat, and the pound of her heart thundered in her ears. Darkness rode with wings along the surface of the ink, and an image flashed across her mind’s eye a moment before she tore off a chunk of the power.

Pain reflected against her, then her vision sundered black. The split-second seemed to last an eternity, before the world steadied and she opened her eyes to find Wyatt studying her—and holding her.

“Put me down.” The order snapped out of her. The last thing he should be doing was touching her. Not when she was under attack and responding in kind.

His eyebrows raised, but he didn’t release her. Instead, he kept her braced with one arm beneath her knees the other behind her back. “What happened?”

“Release me,” she repeated, even as a second wave struck. She had to keep the gaping maw from reaching for him. Gazes locked, she didn’t miss the way his eyes narrowed. The sheer amount of power laced into this attack required every ounce of her concentration to absorb. They didn’t catch her unaware this time. She was ready for it, and she opened to the sudden pour and took it all, grasping ahold of the thread and winding it in as though a line on a fishing pole.

The drag fought her, but no power was immune to her. Wyatt went to one knee and, though she remained steadfast against letting the maw consume him, awareness of his continued nearness swept over her.

“What can I do?” The quiet question didn’t jar her, but she couldn’t afford much in the way of an answer.

The siege cut off abruptly. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. One would think consuming so much power would energize her, but she had to temper it. The maw imbibed, and her soul strained, and then the energy went…elsewhere. At the end, it all took effort. Had she been aware of the charge before it assailed her, she could have braced for it.

“Put me down,” she said once more, and Wyatt complied this time. After gently setting her against the stone floor and easing her against the limestone wall, he withdrew. With a couple of clucks of his tongue, he moved the horse away from her and back toward where Goliath settled in the rear of the cave.

Shudders continued to rack her as her gift roiled around the power. What the hell had it been? The inky sensation had tried to overwhelm her, like a sick coating, and then the ichor skating over the top of it all…

“Damnation,” she swore. Wyatt knelt before her again, firelight flickering over his face. She’d been out of it long enough for him to get the fire started and the horses tended.

“What?”

“Spellwork…it was a Fevered trying to locate us using spellwork to fuel their own gift.” The mashing of two worlds, it explained why it hit her so hard. “I don’t think they found me.” If they did, the locator couldn’t have returned much, not when she burned through the power as swiftly as they’d sent it at her.

Rising, Wyatt turned toward the cave entrance. The water continued to pour, and the lighting flashed. Power swirled around him, contained. “Then let them come.”

Ominous didn’t describe his aura. For the first time since meeting him, she understood why the others feared him.

He wasn’t a man standing there challenging the elements, but a force himself and the elements weren’t getting through.

Killing him and his brother just got a whole lot harder.

---

Wyatt

---

Watching Quinn wrestle with the attack while all he could do was hold her left a fresh black mark in his book. Using the woman as a tool was one thing. Seeing her face down an enemy he couldn’t see or touch—unacceptable. The coals of rage smoldering in his gut turned to a raging blaze.

Hypocrisy, truly.

He wanted Quinn with him to study her, to determine her usefulness and perhaps even throw her at Adam to distract while he disabled him completely. If they could face Adam without his horde of followers, then she might be the last woman standing.

Or she can handle his followers while Adam and I face each other once more. The question she’d asked him two nights previously circled around his mind. “If you couldn’t defeat your brother before, what makes you think you can now?”

He hadn’t answered her then. Turning his head to the side, he found her sitting on a makeshift bed he’d fashioned from what blankets of theirs weren’t soaked. The bleeding from her nose had finally slowed. The rest of their blankets and clothing hung or lay near the fire to dry. Her duster as well. The fire heated the cave well enough.

“Does that look mean you’re ready to talk finally?” The low husky quality of her voice stroked across his senses. It was as though she had been shouting for hours. Yet, she’d said nothing since warning him they might be trying to track her.

“You told me once that you had a few attempts at MacPherson,” he hated calling him Adam aloud. Recently, he’d been forced to say it too many times. “Why did they fail?”

Though she didn’t answer immediately, he didn’t let the delay sour him further.

Sitting forward, Quinn appeared far paler than earlier, even in the firelight. Why did she appear—less? Then it hit him. The shadows around her eyes seemed to mask her from him. Why weren’t her eyes glowing anymore?

“Do you recall when I lit the fire in the cave at the ranch?” She held up her fingers. They were bruised. They hadn’t been earlier, and she hadn’t taken a fall. What cost did her power exact from her?

“Yes. You never explained that, either.” Though, until she mentioned it, he’d quite forgotten. It was just not important in light of the later developments. Her accusation earlier, that he’d left her wounded, and that she’d been traveling injured, swam up to prick him.

“When I take a power, when I consume it, for a very short time, I can use it.” The revelation unnerved him. No Fevered had the ability to take and mimic another’s abilities. None I ever met. He’d seen Fevered who could control another, such as sirens who could bespell, empaths who could encourage compliance, and telepaths who could literally take over a mind and force the individual to do as they wished. “At what cost?”

He didn’t demand she prove it. Not only because he’d seen her firestarting, but also because she’d proven forthright time and again when she answered.

“It damages. I would assume because I am not accustomed to the cost of the ability itself. Most of the power is absorbed, but some remnant remains and must always be exercised to be removed.” Quinn rolled her head from side to side. He’d begun heating water earlier. Maybe he should make her more chicory or…

“Are you hungry?” Just because he didn’t have to eat didn’t mean he shouldn’t remember that the woman did have some limitations.

“I’m starving, but I ate the last of the dried meat earlier.” She sat forward. “I can fetch something.”

“No.” He firmed the command and pointed at her, careful not to shove her back where she’d been laying. Not if she was already hurt. “I’ll hunt.”

“In the middle of this storm?” The doubt in her voice amplified the challenge.

“Perhaps you’ve mistaken that as an offer,” he said, summoning his coat and hat to him. They weren’t completely dry, but far better than when they’d entered the cave. “The shield on the entrance will hold, so don’t try to break it. You’ll only put out the fire and make the horses suffer.”

The last statement hit the mark. She might be a fierce hunter in her own right, and more than capable fighter, but she wouldn’t inflict undue harm on the innocent animals. Sparing a look at Goliath, he said, “Keep an eye on her.” The stallion snorted, but bobbed his head once.

If she tried to do anything foolish, the stallion would interfere. Sliding out of the cave, he could feel the heat squeeze off him as he passed into the storm. Most animals would have found shelter in this type of weather. Hunting would be difficult, but not impossible.

An hour later, Wyatt tracked his prey to a narrow cleft in the rocks. The animal had been injured, and his heart ached for the exhaustion in the deer’s eyes. It wouldn’t make it through the storm. Ending its suffering was both a kindness for the animal and a boon for his traveling companion. The deer was small, though not young.

Kneeling next to the body, he put a hand on its rapidly cooling side. Raising the boys and Scarlett, he’d taught them to honor the hunt. Never take more than what was needed. Never take the truly young, or the nursing mother. Choose the old, the infirm, or the wounded, for they will likely not see the season out. Always be grateful for what has been taken, for the spirit of the animal should be honored.

They’d been hollow words for him. The spirits had forsaken him. They didn’t listen any longer, or perhaps they could not hear. Still, kneeling in the mud, the rain pounding against his back, he said the words, “Thank you for the gift of meat, little sister. May you find the grass ever soft beneath your feet in the world beyond.”

Making short work of draining the animal, he focused on handling the task with respect. An image of his father kneeling next to him as he dressed his first kill, and how the shaman prayed over the animal, then over him. The recitation of the words was less important than the commitment to the land, the spirits, and the people who were blessed to receive the bounty.

Never take for granted what you find today, for tomorrow this offering will be gone and there may never be another. The words sounded in his ear as clearly as if his father stood next to him in the pouring rain. Morning Star had been a large man with a robust laugh and a playful manner. He’d also been a fierce warrior, gifted both in the lands of the living and those who had passed.

Wyatt hadn’t heard him in years beyond counting. He almost didn’t recognize the voice. Without meaning to give into the temptation, he glanced over his shoulder and stared into the darkness and the rain.

You always look for what you want, and never for what is. The chastising words had once stung against him as he failed at the task his father set before him. He’d rather be off with Adam hunting, but his brother had been the lucky one. His shamanistic gift hadn’t manifested. He could walk away from the calling, for it hadn’t been foisted upon him.

I am trying, but I do not… The memory swarmed over him. “Hear them as you do, Father. Now I do not hear them at all.” The spirits never fulfilled his inquiries as they did his father’s. Morning Star could compel the spirits themselves to appear before him, answer his questions, then travel on if they needed to be dispelled, or simply be released if their intentions were peaceful.

You insist upon what must be rather than what is. You do not let the world tell you its truth.

“The world doesn’t have a truth,” he said, shaking his head to shed the water trying to curtain him. He could take the whole deer with him, but they didn’t have the time to dress or smoke the meat. Better to take only what he needed then leave the rest for scavengers. The weather wouldn’t bring them much better hunting. “The world is changing.”

No, ná'tomóehnohtsėstse, you’ve changed.

Wyatt stilled and jolted to his feet. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the patter of rain striking tree, rock, and his hat continued. Morning Star never spoke those words to him.

“Great, now I’m imagining things.” Redirecting a portion of his will to keep the cave secured must be wearing on him. It wouldn’t be the first time that too many distractions hamstrung him. As it was, he’d secured the meat he needed, then muttered a prayer over the deer before retracing his steps to return to the cave.

Too much time with Quinn had opened memories he’d thought long since buried. Not even Quanto had earned more than an occasional tale told around the fire. I told Katherine more. Just the mention of her in his thoughts conjured the image of the delicate beauty who’d captivated him both in mind and spirit. Her magical voice like alcohol to his system, enslaving him with the illusion of freedom.

Enough. The thought cut off and he shut the image away. Katherine was dead. The life he’d attempted to build with her was a damn lie. Your feelings were not the lie, old friend. Be angry with her for her actions, but forgive yourself for yours.

Quanto had only seen the fallout, not the actual events. Though, the few times Katherine had been in the old man’s presence, she’d been on her best behavior. The shaman could contain them, if necessary, but it was difficult for him to kill those who needed killing.

Wyatt had no such reservations. After years of trying to build a life and helping where he could, he’d finally accepted not everyone could or deserved to be saved. The Fever granted power, not wisdom. Greed and selfishness dictated actions and led to sorrow. Eliminating threats saved lives.

A nauseating numbers game, but he’d seen the cost of not standing as a check against the balance. So, you remain out of balance.

The voice wasn’t one he recognized, and Wyatt scanned his surroundings. The only telepath he was aware of didn’t dare touch his mind, not after his last attempt. Quinn hadn’t exhibited any telepathic abilities.

The only things moving in the dark were the branches of the trees and the occasional leaf caught in the wind. Scowling, he detoured his return to the cave. If someone or something was trying to follow him, they would deal with him directly. Not examining his motives for protecting Quinn kept him ranging out, moving in a slow circle away from his position, and maintaining his distance from the cave. If he read the land right, he would be doubling back to where he’d been.

Several drenching minutes later, he came face to face with a pack of coyote surrounding the remains of the deer. They spread out, but didn’t scatter. Teeth bared, they didn’t lunge. They just wanted to keep their good fortune.

Aggravated with himself for falling for a trick in the dark and rain, Wyatt left them to their feast. Most coyotes wouldn’t risk attacking him for the meat he carried in sack, but better to get it back to the cave and spit it out on the fire.

He’d left a thin opening for the smoke to escape, but he’d felt no pressure on the field. Besides, if Quinn really wanted to escape, she’d just port herself out. The thought alleviated some of his concern.

By the time he climbed back to the cave, he found the fire burning low and Quinn sound asleep. Goliath stood like a sentry near the fire, staring into the dark. The horse tossed his head, then glanced down at the sleeping woman. Her gelding hadn’t moved from where he also slept.

“Let her sleep,” he ordered the horse quietly. It had been a few days, but they had time, so he got the meat cooking then found a bucket to catch rainwater. Goliath hadn’t flagged and, like Wyatt, they could both still be out in the rain. Instead, they were making the cave comfortable and warm for their companions.

Companion.

Was that what his would-be slayer was? Better to remember that, while Quinn rode with him, she was hoping to learn how to kill him.

Come dawn, it will be her turn to answer some questions.

His world would never be what he wanted it to be.

Truly, do you even know what you want anymore? The voice carried with eerie familiarity, then silenced again.

Pivoting, Wyatt studied the wet night once more. Who the hell was out there? And what were they trying to do? The lack of real information wasn’t a first, but he didn’t have time for games. What he should do was wake Quinn and demand she tell him everything, no more dawdling.

Instead of acting, however, he let her sleep while the meat continued to roast and the sky continued to pour her tears upon the earth.

Tomorrow would arrive soon enough.