Wyatt

Hours ‘til the end

---

The sun had risen earlier, but it wasn’t until the clouds began to blow out that the light was able to penetrate to the snow-covered earth. The glare off the pristine white was blinding. The irony of the light redoubling wasn’t lost on him. The closer they drew to the final hour, the more his awareness of the world grew. It was like the clock turned back, and he could remember more of what it was to be human.

Or maybe his soul had never forgotten, the knowledge was simply too painful for him to carry with him all the time. His worst mistakes had been as a man. He needed to be more than a man to correct it all. The night before, when Jessica disappeared on him again, he’d worried. What if she decided to not return at all?

Was that even possible? Could she be so opposed to his plan to abandon all those depending on them? Then followed the very natural question of, why would she be?

As time elongated while he waited for her, darkness invaded. The eerie sense that Adam was close, searching for him. He couldn’t see Wyatt, not unless Wyatt burned his blood, and he hadn’t done that since arriving in the state. Misdirection would serve him as well as anything else.

The wave of force passed by. Though it lingered in the area for a time, as abruptly as it arrived, it seemed to burst. Then the sense of him fled. Less than a half-hour later, Jessica reappeared. Relief cascaded over him at her reappearance, even if she looked very cold and had her arms wrapped around herself.

Belatedly, he realized she’d left her duster and weapons. So where the hell had she gone?

Adam’s presence coupled with Jessica’s disappearance left an uneasy sensation gnawing in his gut. Had he trusted the wrong person?

Without a word, she’d curled up in the bed and pulled the blankets around herself. She was asleep within moments, and he’d added more wood to the stove to heat the room for her further. He hadn’t bothered while she was out.

Standing watch throughout the night, he wrestled with his opinions. Twisting away from the window, he looked over at the woman who was still asleep. Maybe he should leave her behind. If he wasn’t sure he could trust her, then he would have to find another way to accomplish the task. The kids would be in place soon, and they would be waiting for his signal.

He had to go.

“Ask whatever has been chewing your hide all night.” Jessica’s sleep deepened voice raked over him. “Or stop staring at me. When you’re trying to drill into my soul, it isn’t conducive to sleep.”

A chuckle worked free at the comment. Laughter came more easily to him. Another reminder of his own mortality, or the lack he’d been living among. “I sensed Adam last night. He drew very close, then he vanished and you returned.”

Rolling over in the bed, she sat up. Her dark hair had come free and tumbled around her. The effect of the tousled locks on her sleepy face sent an entirely different emotion bolting through him.

Pure lust.

“That’s because he tracked Goliath.” The words doused his heated response in ice.

“What?”

“I went to the stable. I needed time to breathe and to think. I thought I’d check on the horses while I was there.” Scrubbing a hand over her face, she shoved the blankets back. It was then he noticed the ruddy flush to her cheeks. If the room was that warm, it might be uncomfortable for her, so he dampened the fire with half a thought. The stove would stay warm for some time yet, and he could always rebuild it if they needed it.

“While I was there, pondering your insane plan, I heated the water buckets. A negligible spell, but I didn’t want their water to freeze. It wasn’t as warm in there as I would have liked it to be. I also unlocked Goliath’s stall. I’m guessing our innkeeper went out and secured them for us.”

As grateful as he was that she’d checked on Goliath’s status, Wyatt might throttle her if she didn’t get to the point.

“Then I sensed magic…dark, cold, and very focused. It ghosted into the stable, but it wasn’t locking onto me. It was focused on Goliath. He sensed it, too, then I came face to face with the shadow man.” She wasn’t calling him Adam today.

Anger threaded through the same veins lust cascaded over only a few moments earlier. It had a chilling effect on his unwelcome libido. While he’d been standing around waiting, she’d come face to face with the creature.

“Two things you need to know—” She swung her legs out from under the covers and stood slowly. There was a definite stiffness to her posture, as though everything in her ached. “Projections are just that. They can’t physically interact with the world around them. They can only observe and perhaps speak. He used a great deal of magic to make that happen. Secondly, he didn’t seem to have any knowledge of who I was, which is interesting because I know he’s tried to kill me before.” Stretching her hands over her head, she yawned, then continued. “He tried to intimidate me and get information, but I didn’t offer him any answers.

“Then he tried to plunge that power into me, I think he believed he could force me to obey him.”

Clenching both of his fists, he had to remind himself that Jessica stood in front of him and nothing about her seemed different. If Adam’s touch had an effect on her, he would have noticed. MacPherson had never been able to fool him. “Does he know what you can do?”

“Probably not. I used witchcraft to shield myself. His power smashed against me, then rolled off like water over a stone.”

The woman never failed to impress him. Of course she had. Witches had raised her.

“Then your stallion did the most interesting thing.”

That sounded like Goliath. He raised his eyebrows.

“He reared, then crashed his hooves through the projection, shattering it.” Straightening, she stared at him. “He dispelled magic like it was the easiest thing in the world. That wasn’t just some light spell, it was a complicated one, fueled by more than one power source.”

The thought was nauseating, because magic like that could easily use blood or life for a power source. MacPherson never had cared who he harmed in his quest for power. Freeing her hair from the braid, she walked over to her saddlebags and dug out a hairbrush.

“Then he was simply gone?” Though it meshed with what Wyatt experienced, it still infuriated him that she’d been on her own while he’d only been a few dozen feet away.

“Yes, and he didn’t return. I doubt he was able.” Her hair crackled as she brushed it, lights sparking off of it. “I hate your plan. I think it’s a terrible idea. Not because it won’t do what you hope it will, because I have no way to know that.”

Turning she faced him, and the sadness in her eyes choked off his fury.

“It’s because I know I can destroy your vessel, and I have no guarantee that you can do what you hope to do. I don’t want to be the cause of your ultimate demise. Not because…not because I was born to this destiny and not because you made mistakes. We’ve both made difficult choices in our lives, and not all of them have done what we may have wished. There is a saying, hell is full of good meanings.”

He’d heard it. “Then you don’t wish to help?”

“No, I don’t, but I will.” Lowering the brush, she pulled her hair over her shoulder and began to work on the ends. “I will because I have to act, not react. I have played out your plan in my mind a dozen different ways. I don’t see an alternative. You are not destroying the vessel to end your life. You’re destroying it because he is tied to it. You are giving him nowhere else to go.”

Exactly. “Yes.”

“Which means you have to be strong enough to take back your own body…” Doubt crept into her tone. “Are you?”

“I will do what must be done, because the other part of that saying is heaven is full of good works.”

“You do not subscribe to the one god faith.” A humorless chuckle punctuated the sentence.

“No, but I believe there is something beyond. I believe that there is a place souls go, whether it is to walk with the spirits of our ancestors, or even to return in the lusty cry of a child. There is more. That is all I really need to know.” As a spiritwalker, he’d seen the other side more than he cared to admit. The spirits were powerful, but they were removed from this world for a reason.

“Then while I may not understand your power, I do understand you.”

The comment was so simple, yet it took him out at the knees and buoyed him at the same time. She was the last piece of the puzzle. The one so vital to their success. “Thank you.” Crossing the room in two steps, he took her shoulders and gripped her to him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she whispered against his chest. “If you fail, if you don’t take him, and I have to? When I get to the other side. I’m going to hunt you down.”

Laughter welled within him.

Of that, he had no doubt.

Her arms came around him, and he found himself tight in her embrace. Closing his eyes, he soaked in the sensation of her nearness. Thank all that was, he had lived long enough to find her.

No matter how brief their time was together.

---

Quinn

On the road to the lake

---

All the years of living up north hadn’t prepared her for the brutal winter this forsaken land seemed to suffer from. The horses were in fine spirits, even her gelding, who she’d decided to call Hero. She had no idea what his name actually was and didn’t feel like asking Wyatt if he remembered. If they both survived this trek, she’d pay the Kanes for him and keep him forever.

The proud little boy actually trotted through the heavy snow. Thankfully, Goliath plowed the path for them. The innkeeper had given them a crazy-eyed look when they set out right after the midday meal. The sun was high overhead, and it seemed to be promising them a chance at warmth.

A false promise was still a promise.

The ride to the lake was about eight hours, if they pushed it. The snow would slow them down, as would breaks. For her part, Quinn intended to make none more than absolutely necessary.

Hero was a good boy, and he seemed to sense the focal point of their journey lay right ahead of them. The sun would set before they arrived. They would be taking on MacPherson and who knew how many of his minions under the cover of darkness.

Wyatt’s sense of calm was pervasive, but had he really planned the battle for the night? In the dead of winter? It was like those tales of the fight to free Persephone from Hades. The god of the dead stole his bride, but her mother Demeter never gave up on her, and the earth suffered under her wrath until the other gods forced Hades to free his bride for a few months of the year to be reunited with her mother.

So did that make Wyatt Persephone or Demeter? The odd little thought earned a chuckle. At her laughter, Wyatt glanced back at her.

“Trust me when I say you don’t want to know.” Though she was still giggling. At no point could she imagine Wyatt as the maiden, stolen away. A lost soul? Yes.

Wyatt raised his eyebrows and Goliath slowed a little. Then the horse looked back at her and her vision blurred. Man and horse together looked like the night carved out and given form, illuminated by the sunshine in an aura of perfection. As quickly as the image formed, it vanished again.

“Tell me, do you know any Greek mythology?” If he really wanted to know, she would tell him.

“Not particularly,” he said, tapping his heels to Goliath and picking up the pace again. Hero, not to be outdone, hurried to keep up.

“There is an old tale…” She told him about the gods, and how Hades kidnapped Persephone, and the rest. When she finished, Wyatt gave her a strange look.

“And that made you laugh?”

“Well, it did when I couldn’t figure out which one of the goddesses you were supposed to be.”

His snort echoed back at her. “I’m more likely to be Hades. I kidnapped you, didn’t I?”

Another laugh escaped her. “You talked me into it. That’s not kidnapping.” Truth. She believed in the long-term goal of the mission. MacPherson was a threat to all people of the Blood and far more. He punished the Fevered who followed him, slaughtered those who didn’t, and already tried to interfere with the government.

If not for those who stood in his way, he might very well have already been on his way to domination.

“Kidnapping doesn’t have to be physical. It can be a mental coercion.” Was Wyatt truly trying to convince her she was helpless in the situation?

“I think you were missing the point.” She enjoyed the argument. “Persephone didn’t want to be stolen.”

“Yet she went back to him time and again,” he countered.

“Only because she had eaten from the land of the dead, so she was as necessary there as on the earth with her mother. The twist of balance.”

Groaning, Wyatt shook his head. “The balance will be the death of us all.”

“Maybe, but then that would be balance, for without life, you cannot have death. And without end, what would be the purpose of beginning?” It was the snake, which chewed its own tail. Infinity produced by the stepping stones of those who made their way through life, over and over. Some passed on, some returned, some overlooked what they had left… “It is the nature of existence. It is how we learn. For without consequences, then we would all be selfish and inconsiderate, and out only for ourselves.”

“I disagree,” he said. Of course he did. “Humanity will always be hungry for the next thing. We have basic needs which must be fulfilled, but as those needs are no longer a struggle, then the hunger turns its eyes elsewhere. It is why the wealthy tend to be the greediest, and those without anything left to lose will do the unthinkable to bring themselves on pare with even the weakest among us.”

“In the coven, we always took care of our people. Even those who could not find work, jobs were made for them. Food was always provided. Helping each other was a part of our lives, not a requirement.” Though they raised their young with those values.

“Except for you, who they leashed. Whereas my tribe wanted to banish us. Power will always frighten those who don’t have it. You know that, among the tribes, the Fever is called the curse. What is called in the coven?”

“The same,” she admitted and sighed. “It’s the bastardization of two differing magics.”

“Or the evolution,” he retorted. “That never occurs to anyone. Illness exists—there are diseases the white man carries that the People cannot fight off. What might be an easy sickness to someone from New York could wipe out an entire tribe. Survival requires adaptation.”

“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

“Yes. And debated similarly with Quanto. The old man believed that if it shouldn’t happen, then Morning Star and Golden Hair wouldn’t have been able to combine the magic in the first place. When the Europeans came to this land, they brought their spirits with them—their gods, if you will. The Spanish did the same. When they pushed the tribes from the south into the north, those spirits went as well. The blood spilled on all sides soaked the earth…”

“Powerful fuel for any blood spell.” That never occurred to her. “Then, you’re saying they sowed the land with both sides…”

“Yes,” he said ducking beneath a low hanging branch, and she followed suit. “What does the earth do when you plant anything? It allows the opportunity to grow. It is how plants and trees can splice together. The magic buried together, can become fruitful together.”

“And your shaman believed this?” It was a not altogether unpleasant thought.

“He suggested it was why it became possible for my parents to do what they did, but in changing one thing, they changed the results of the fever which caused it.”

Blood magic. “That’s why so many die.”

“That is what I believe, too.” Sorrow. “For the magic to activate, death must fuel it.”

Every spell had a price. It frustrated her and amazed her in the same breath. “If you defeat MacPherson, it won’t end the Fevers.”

“No, I think the Fevered are here forever. Even if they weren’t able to spread the illness, even if the cause fades over time as people adapt, the children will carry it just as the people of the Blood still kindle the magic.”

She wasn’t sure if she should take comfort in those words. There was something poetic about life’s journey continuing, the beginnings and the endings. So how the Fevered became might change, but the Fevered themselves existed. They procreated.

A new generation had already been born—at least one, if not two. Though they had no count on how many before.

Life would go on for all of them, in some fashion. Even if they fell this night, even if they lost, the Fevered would go on.

“It’s going to be all right, Jessica,” Wyatt called back to her. “No matter what happens…it’s all going to be all right.”

She wanted to believe that, but she couldn’t afford to examine why too closely. “Do you really believe that?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because to believe otherwise is to surrender the battle before it’s even begun. Life is about survival. If we were all meant to be, then we will survive. If not, then we will return to the earth, to the spirits, and the world will go on.” It was almost too simplistic. Yet, the conviction in his voice touched her. “I believe that if it were not right, it would never have been possible.”

“In winter, the earth sleeps. That doesn’t mean she won’t awaken again in the spring.”

The smile he sent her warmed her all the way to her soul. “Precisely.”

“Only you could make riding into battle feel like we’re going to have a lovely time.”

“I asked Cody once what he thought when he rushed the fight. The boy was forever at the mercy of his wolf, and he always said today is a good day to die.” The shrug accompanying his words was both paternal and amused. No matter how trapped in the dark he’d been, Wyatt had found light. He’d found it in a shaman who refused to give up on him, a wife who’d loved him, and children he’d raised.

Children who had become the future.

Touched, she blinked back the moisture in her eyes. “Well if you’re asking me, it should be a good deal warmer if we want to call it a good day to die. It’s barely passing middling.” The dry comment worked.

Wyatt laughed again.

Smiling, she let the tension in her muscles bleed away. Maybe she couldn’t save him, but he wouldn’t walk into that long night alone.