Quinn

Outside Dorado

---

Waiting for the brothers was a mistake. “We need to go.”

“Please, five more minutes. Five more minutes can’t hurt.” Julianna Matthews known in Dorado as Jenny McKenna and formerly Julie Henry of Virginia.

“Too many already know you here.” Quinn studied the horizon. After leaving the cell, she’d gone straight for Julianna and swept her out of town. The young witch left a note for her brothers, one she swore only they would be able to read. She couldn’t run to safety if it meant sacrificing them. Time was not on their side. Though it had been hours since she’d escaped, no doubt existed within Quinn that the Fevered and the marshal would come searching.

“The Kanes are good people. So are their relatives.” Like Quinn, the young witch studied the horizon. “We were safe here.”

“Not for much longer.” Julianna didn’t know about the changes rippling across the whole country. Something big had shifted in the intervening weeks—something dangerous—and it could change the course of everything she pinned her survival on. Witches in the East were dying. Shamans in the West grew fewer and fewer. If those of so-called civilization didn’t hunt them, then the darkness swept them away.

“You don’t know that.” Julianna pivoted to face her. Though she’d pinned her hair up in a style common in town, wisps escaped to fall in a riot of curls around her face. The deep color of her eyes went translucent. “Even Kent—Royce doesn’t see that far in the future.”

Not reminding the little witch about the fluidity of the future did her no favors. With the chill of apprehension fisting her spine, Quinn didn’t see how it helped either. Internally, she could almost imagine the ticking of a clock growing ever louder or perhaps it was the whisper of the last grains of sand leaving the hourglass.

“We have to go.” If they didn’t leave immediately, they would be in a fight to escape. Julianna possessed power, but she kept it contained and hidden. She didn’t practice her magic or build spells. A mile from Dorado left them too close to the Kane’s ranch as well as the Kanes themselves. They would need to go west, into the deep wilderness. It would be a difficult trip for Julianna, but Quinn would see her through and safe. Perhaps the mountains in the far north…

“I don’t want to leave them.”

Better to ignore the plea in Julianna’s voice. “Desire and necessity are often two different and very dangerous opponents in the war for survival.” Losing her brothers was an ungainly option, but the witch blood passed more prominently through the maternal line. If Quinn had to choose which of the three to save, she’d choose Julianna.

“Have you no heart?” Tears soaked the words, but when Quinn nudged her toward the horses, the young woman moved.

Studying the land between them and town, Quinn kept a hand on her gun. The rifle under her duster weighed heavily upon her as did the chill in the air. It seemed to grow colder and the shadow stretching toward them longer. They’d tarried far too long. Danger approached. Instincts screaming, she snapped her attention to Julianna. “Mount your horse and cloak yourself. Now.”

“What about you?”

Slipping the rifle free of the duster, she checked the weapon’s load. “Do it.”

The land seemed to vibrate beneath her feet. Whatever hunted Julianna, the distance between them was too narrow a window. Even if they made a run for it, they dared giving it a direction to pursue and worse—their backs as targets.

Choosing her ground, she followed the line of the land to where it began the dip toward town. Certain of the direction, Quinn swept her gaze across the horizon. No dust trail betrayed an incoming rider, but the sensation of impending doom couldn’t be ignored.

A shiver of awareness rippled behind her, and she didn’t have to glance over her shoulder to know the witch had obeyed her. Julianna’s hesitance and soft heart didn’t make her idiot. The lack of motion on the land below didn’t relieve her unease. Whatever came at her, it had the ability to shield itself. Fevered? Witch? Shaman?

Or something else?

“I don’t see anything.” The hiss of Julianna’s whisper floated through air. Her horse stomped its foot and the jingle of a bridle overlaid the sound. Closing them out of her mind, Quinn tuned her senses to the world around her. The cold wind blowing from the north, the hint of wood smoke kissing the moisture on the breeze, and the faint dustiness of the land, leached of water and life as it began to settle into winter slumber. They hadn’t had snow this far south, yet. It was only a matter of time. The harsh winter conditions farther north would aid her in making Julianna disappear again, dissuade those who tracked them…

A rock crunched. Booted steps approached. The shadow coalesced into a single figure, moving toward her with absolute purpose. Snapping her rifle up, she sighted on the hell coming for them. Another twenty feet and he’d be in range. Her finger hovered a whisper away from the trigger. Exhaling in between her heartbeats, she slowed her pulse and released her tension.

Ten feet.

Nine.

Her heart thudded.

Six.

The world narrowed.

Three.

She brushed her forefinger over the trigger. Locked on the center of the mass, she would fire two shots. Then she’d switch to the pistol.

One foot.

The rifle jerked from her hand, the leather strap around her arm hauling her forward a dozen feet before it snapped. Power lashed at her, hooking around her arms and legs to slam her into the earth. Not fighting the pull, she let the power drag her across the land and lifted her head to avoid the rocks. Tasting the flavor of it, she let the black maw within her open as she arrived at the shadow. She consumed the power lashing her, and it flowed into her like a deadly stream shattering its dam.

The brunt stunned her, but she lifted her legs as she came to a halt and slammed them forward into the man waiting for her. The concussive force thrust him backward. His grunt satisfied her and then power washed over her again. Ready for it this time, she fed it to the maw and let it flow into her. The charge reverberated through her system, and she struck forward, slamming her fist into his jaw.

The blow took his hat off and the setting sun cast a burnt orange light against his skin. It illuminated his eyes. One blue. One green. All impossible.

MacPherson could not be in Dorado.

Powerful arms seized her, and she slammed her elbow down onto the soft place where his forearm joined his biceps. Twisting, she cut her leg between his, intending to throw him. Instead, he blocked her leg, then she found herself flying through the air. With more luck than finesse, she slammed into the dirt on her shoulder and rolled until she was on her feet again. Her hat flew off, and she pivoted to find the shadow man advancing on her.

Their positions reversed. The sun was behind him. Another blast of power vised around her then sank inside as the maw absorbed it.

“They want you alive.” The words came out like rocks ground together, hard and unyielding. “I’m trying not to hurt you.”

Since when had MacPherson ever cared what anyone else wanted? Damn near drunk from feasting on his power, Quinn allowed herself a small smile. “Can’t say I’m going to do the same for you.”

Her rifle lay on the land between them. It would be a mistake to go for it. Though she devoured the power he tried to contain her with, he didn’t waver on his feet. Impossibility layered upon impossibility.

“Ma’am…”

“Save it.” She cut him off with a slice of her hand through the air. Freeing the blade from her forearm sheath, she drew out the four-inch long knife. It wasn’t a sword, but it would do. “You and I go too far back to play this game. You can’t take me down with your power and you know it. Where are your lapdogs?” He never went anywhere without his little collective. He gathered Fevered to him, persuading them to work for him and follow him blindly.

She should have killed the Kanes when she had the chance. It never occurred to her they’d already fallen into the abyss of his service.

“I don’t have any.” He came toward her again. “Put away the knife before I take it from you.”

She’d always been tall, as tall as most men, and it helped her to pass as one of them. MacPherson edged her in height, but today he seemed to tower over her. A trick of the light, and she did her best to ignore it. “You shouldn’t have come for them personally. Without your army, you’re one man and I can kill one man.”

He merely sighed. At his lunge, she struck but even though her blade bit into the flesh of his shoulder, he didn’t slow. His power flooded her and she consumed it. But, like the barren earth pounded by too much rain, it seemed to overflow and spill around her. He grabbed her shirt and his fist drew back.

Yanking her head to the side, she narrowly avoided the punch to the face. Instead, his fist slammed into her shoulder. The impact rattled her bones, and pain flared along her side. Twisting the knife, she dug it deeper into his flesh. If she had to eviscerate him, she would. He grasped her wrist, but the harder she tried to gouge him, the more he resisted.

“Woman.” Death licked the pair of syllables, but she refused the threat and used the stolen power to amplify her strength. The blade turned in his flesh, yet all it seemed to accomplish was piss him off. “Dammit.” He wrenched her wrist and the bones snapped. Pain flared along her arm, shattering her concentration. He flung her backward, and she bruised her hip in the landing.

The wind redoubled, and dark clouds began to pour in. Where they collided, lightning bounced then sliced toward the earth. “No, Julianna,” she hissed between clenched teeth as she fought her way to her feet. The witch had given up her cloak and, though her horse bucked against approaching MacPherson, she prepared a fatal spell. The incantation poured from her, and her eyes glowed.

Turning toward the new threat, the man raised his hand. Not giving him a chance to lash out with his seemingly unstoppable well of power, Quinn lunged at him. She’d never taken killing lightly and consuming a Fevered’s full ability could leave her humming for weeks, but she had to risk it.

Julianna was too important.

Landing on the big man’s back, she staggered him with her weight, and he went to one knee. She ended up flat on her back staring up at him. He had a knife to her throat and she had one to his groin. Fury kindled within her. “You might survive the blood loss, but you won’t be intact when you do.”

“Who the hell are you?” His hard as nails voice berated her. Lightning struck the ground next to him, but he didn’t flinch. “Witch, swallow that next spell or I will kill her and the Kanes can deal with disappointment.”

Ozone scorched the air and the press of cold steel rested against her flesh. Quinn didn’t let go of the knife at his groin. He may have broken her dominant left hand, but she could still wound him so deeply no endless lives would repair him.

Julianna’s chanting stopped. “Release her and I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t want you.” The response startled Quinn.

“You don’t?” Her question echoed Julianna’s.

Her captor glared down at her. “No. I don’t. You, however, you’re a different problem.”

Shock disrupted her focus, and he took advantage of the moment to shift the blade from her throat before slamming the pommel against her head. Pain sundered her skull, rending her next thoughts as blackness curtained her.

---

WYATT

Outside Dorado

---

Checking the hunter’s neck, he found a pulse. Raising the lid on one of her eyes, he checked her pupils. The incandescent light he’d seen in her blue eyes shimmered despite the lack of reaction.

What the hell are you?

She fought like a hellion, resisted his gifts, and didn’t withdraw from contact with him. Even his siblings, who cared about him, rarely allowed contact for longer than a few seconds. The ice in his veins disturbed the living.

“Are you going to kill her?”

Reminded of the damn witch, he spared the woman a look. Her hair escaped the confines of its braids and a flush suffused her face. She seemed torn between glaring at him and controlling the horse pacing restlessly beneath her.

“No. Go home.”

Returning his attention to the woman on the ground, he stripped her weapons. In addition to the rifle he’d disarmed from her, he found two pistols, and three more knives—not counting the one still buried in his chest. The witch didn’t move. Why should she do as she was told? No one else did. Glancing at her, then at the other horse, he sent a curl of power to wrap around the rope on the pommel.

The rope barely budged for a moment. What should have taken negligible thought demanded his full concentration. The length of hemp shivered, then tumbled from its place to drop onto the ground. Frowning, Wyatt summoned the length to him, but it barely inched. The weak response from the rope sent a slither of unease along his spine, a wholly unfamiliar sensation.

Closing his eyes, he clenched a fist. A coil deep within him tightened, then released to lash out. The rope slammed into his fist. Catching it before it dropped, he studied the material, then the woman on the ground.

She dropped Kid, Jason, and Cody.

Dropped them…arguably she possessed a warrior’s spirit and fighting skills. The blade in his chest served as a testament to her skill in combat. More, she’d resisted his ability to take her peacefully and pushed them right into direct hand-to-hand battle. Pressing her hands together, he looped the rope around her wrists, then down to her ankles, threading it up to wrap around her neck then once more around the wrists.

No sense in taking chances. The marshal wanted her alive. Behind him, the witch still waited and her horse sidled several steps before she pulled it under control once more. “Please, whatever you are…don’t hurt her.”

Why hadn’t the witch run? Once he had the hunter secured, he rose to study the woman. Wisps of her sandy hair pulled away from her face. The setting sun cast too many shadows, but she resembled the witchborn in town. Witch blood—in Dorado. “You are far from home, witch.”

“My name is Juli—my name is Julianna. Yes, we are far from home. We had to.”

“Why are you this far west?” Though he kept his attention securely divided between the women, he tested his power against the rocks. They shivered, and rolled, but the pebbles resisted his influence as though they were boulders weighing tons.

“Why aren’t you trying to kill me?” The tremor in her voice betrayed her bravado.

“You’re not bright are you?” A smart witch would have taken advantage of his preoccupation and fled. Instead, he seemed to have found a courageous and stubborn one. Stubborn witches died. Courageous ones died sooner.

“If you were going to kill me, you would have already done it.” She didn’t dismount, he’d give her that much credit. “If you were going to kill Quinn, you wouldn’t have tied her up.”

Not answering, Wyatt withdrew a step so he could pull the blade out. They’d gotten lucky—his blood wasn’t on Quinn anywhere, at least none he could detect. He’d have to create some light to see for certain.

“You’re also not human.” The witch’s voice stopped him. “If you were human, a blade in your heart would have killed you.”

The sun continued to sink in the west. His eyes adjusted to the dark, focusing on the warmth she radiated though her body heat and how it diminished with the sun’s descent. The temperatures fell, though her breath didn’t frost in the air. His prisoner would also get cold.

“Return to town.” He didn’t expect her to just obey, so he gave her incentive. “Your brother, Mitchell, was hurt. He will likely need care.”

The last words spurred her. She jerked the reins on her horse and tapped her heels as though intending to obey him. Then she pulled the horse in, indecision seeming to shiver over her. “What are you going to do?”

Witches never could leave anything alone. Concentrating, he tapped the horse on the hindquarters and the mare lunged toward him. Closer, so the animal finally caught his scent. Her eyes rolled once before she hurtled past them and down the hill toward Dorado. Shaking his head, he followed her progress until she was out of sight then jerked the blade from his chest. It took force, because he had already begun to heal around the cool metal. Ripping it free, he exhaled a breath as blood poured from the open injury. Every pump of his nicked, shriveled heart sent a fresh wash of blood to the surface. Finally, it slowed, as the flesh inched closed.

He’d have to burn the shirt. Giving the injury a few more seconds to heal, he studied the unconscious woman on the ground. Darkness draped the land fully as the last rays of the sun extinguished in the western sky. Overhead, stars began to twinkle across the velvet of the purpling dark. After cleaning her knife off on his shirt, he tested the balance. It was damn near perfect.

Squatting, he touched two fingers to the closed wound on his chest. Blood chugged sluggishly through his veins. The spark he could summon to it, weak. Glancing at the rocks, he concentrated and they began to shake. The threads of power in his system sputtered, then surged to life with a thrum. The stones rocketed into the air.

Sweeping the land around them, he overturned the earth his blood spilled on and thrust it deeper. The faint vibration of the disruption his ability caused faded as he shoved it at least six feet down. Done, he stripped off his coat then the shirt. Using the ragged remains, he cleaned the dried remnants of blood while scoping the area for bits of wood. Once he had a fire started and his shirt burned, he contemplated the unconscious woman. He’d set the fire near her to give her warmth rather than move her.

The night around them remained quiet save for her horse—or at least what he assumed was her horse. The animal grazed seemingly unconcerned for the earlier fight and flight of the witch. A witch—three witches—and all in Dorado at the same time that Jimmy arrived with a shaman and Buck…

Quanto. Aggravation raked over him and he clenched his fist before rising to his feet. For days before his death, Quanto had closeted himself away with Buck—no, this wasn’t in the days before he passed. He’d planned this for a while. Too many coincidences.

The fire flared with a whoosh as though fed some great fuel. Stepping between his captive and the leaping flames, Wyatt thickened the air around the fire pit as the blaze grew.

“Still burning our blood, brother?” A face appeared in the blue-gold embers, a mockery of a smile twisting his lips. “Tsk. Tsk. You know what I can do with our blood.”

Studying the too familiar expression, Wyatt said nothing. Engaging served no purpose. Letting him talk? The creature wearing his face had one flaw. It enjoyed the sound of its own voice.

Head tilted, the figure’s face split with fiery ash as the burning wood joined the flames as the being continued to grow. The illusion of his presence festered like an open sore.

“What are you up to, brother?” It leaned to the side as though trying to see past him, a parlor trick. “You know we have no secrets from each other.” The creature scratched at his chest, before straightening when he achieved Wyatt’s height. “The old man is dead.”

Folding his arms, Wyatt simply stared at him and kept the blaze contained. Blood gave the being a point to lock onto. The bottled blaze would smother soon enough and end the bastard’s transmission.

“You still don’t want to talk to me?” A long-suffering sigh punctuated the end of the question. Another figure appeared in the flames, this one far more familiar. “I have something of yours.”

Rudy didn’t struggle, his shoulders slumped and his head lolled back. Little brother—

The creature lifted him by his throat.

“Beg me for his life and maybe I’ll keep him for you.” The figure leaned forward again. “I’m listening…”

Begging would only feed the beast’s ego. The lack of reaction from Rudy promised his little brother was either already dead or another illusion designed to torment him.

It worked.

“Very well, ni-hi-ni-hin-o-zi. Have it your way.” He dropped “Rudy” then sneered. “I know the old man is dead and that you are freed from your oath. Come for me, and I will end them all. I know where they are, your little family, and I will take them all…”

Done with the conversation, Wyatt clenched his fist and the fire smothered, plunging them into darkness once more.

“Well,” the hunter on the ground groaned. “Aren’t you full of surprises?”

“I’m not the only one.” Squatting next to her, he maintained the distance. She didn’t struggle against the ropes. If anything, she seemed too still and calm. The darkness disguised her features, but to build another fire, he’d have to move away from any drop of his blood.

“I stabbed you.” Quiet certainty rang in her voice.

“I know.”

“You didn’t die.”

“No.” Not from that wound, anyway.

“You didn’t kill me.” Was that an accusation in her tone?

Curious about her lack of reaction, he prodded the bear. “Not yet.”

“Good.”

Admittedly, not what he expected to hear. “Good?”

“Yes. It means I still have time to kill you.” A promise, not a threat.

“We’ll see.” He really couldn’t afford to be intrigued.