Wyatt

The Flying K

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Quinn barely touched him as they rode. Most riding behind another would place their hands on his shoulders or his hips for balance. She did neither. A glance over his shoulder told him her attention wasn’t on him, but the night shrouded landscape around them. Awareness prevented ambush. He could appreciate the sentiment.

Though he’d only been to the ranch a handful of times, he’d memorized a few locations beyond the outbuildings, cabins, barns, and the small town of Haven which lay across the river from Dorado itself. The kids had been smart to build half their town within the confines of the barrier. It kept the children in their care safe.

He angled them north, following the river into the hills. None lived out here. Based on the terrain, though, Wyatt would wager Cody enjoyed running these hills, deep culverts, and canyons. The land was rough, untamed, and offered plenty of places to lie in wait.

At the lip of one canyon, Goliath had enough of both of them and halted with a toss of his head. The stallion stomped his forelegs, impatient. Quinn didn’t need encouragement, she dismounted and paced away from him. Wyatt followed, a half step behind her. Goliath shadowed them as they continued to walk.

“Are you looking for a place to bury the body?” Her dry comment almost pulled a smile from him. Appreciating wit or not, however, he refused to be swayed by the dangerously attractive package she presented.

Women were the far deadlier of their species. A lesson he didn’t need re-educating in. “No I was looking for privacy, which is harder to come by as long as we are behind the barrier.”

“The telepath and the empath.” She recognized the problem.

“Yes.”

“The barrier is bound to them so it enhances their abilities. Which means they could be listening to us right now.” Though his earlier statement hadn’t been a test, Quinn didn’t bother to disguise her knowledge of Fevered. “At least it means I know the McKennas.”

“McKenna isn’t their real name.” Witches.

“No, but we covered this already. They are descendants of your mother’s clan.” Even in the dark he could feel the weight of her regard. His mother. He hadn’t thought of her in…

“I only have your word for that.” Why the hell had this woman chosen now to make an appearance? If she was what she said she was—

“I don’t care if you take my word or not.” Quinn pivoted to face him. At her halt, Goliath shifted direction and ranged away from them. The stallion’s absolute lack of interest in their disagreement intrigued him. The horse had been at his side for so long, the animal often acted as if he were the second man in the fight. He always had Wyatt’s back.

So why then did Goliath trust Quinn? Or at least not worry about her?

“Then why are you still here?” The first question to answer for both of them. What did she hope to gain by remaining? What did he want from her?

“Because you have his face.” She set her hands on her hips, the action nudging her duster wide. Though he’d stripped her weapons earlier, he didn’t doubt she was still at threat. “You are the closest I have come to him.”

“And?” Wyatt raised his brows.

“You plan on killing him.” She canted her head and the faint breeze tugged at the length of her black hair. Some strands had come loose from the loop she’d tied around it at her nape.

Established, so he waited.

The corners of her lips curved. “You want more information, then you need trade for it.”

As if he needed to barter. “I’m not the prisoner.”

“Nor am I.” Not unexpectedly, she vanished.

Tugging off his hat, he glanced at Goliath who stood a few feet away staring at the spot Quinn had been in. When the horse swung his head and turned, Wyatt tracked the motion. Quinn reappeared a few feet away. Goliath snorted and tossed his head.

“Are you done?” He asked into the silence, his eyes had long since adjusted to the dark. It would have been difficult to miss to the narrowed eyes or the tightness of her mouth otherwise.

“I don’t know. Are you?” Not an ounce of intimidation reflected in her manner. Impressive, considering he’d encountered only a few rare individuals who could face off against him.

“Depends on whether it would be simpler to eliminate you.” No sense in sugarcoating the issues between them.

“You already tried to eliminate me. How did that go for you?”

Interesting. Nothing dissuaded her. “Not yet. I’m still learning.”

Laughter greeted the statement and he shook his head. The woman thought highly of herself. In fairness, though, she’d quelled one of his gifts. When was the last time someone successfully managed that? Probably when he was younger, a time when he had been all energy, and hope, passion and fire.

Before he died the second time.

They remained in silence for several heartbeats. Her attention went from him to the sky above. Clouds obscured the stars, diluting the moonlight. The darkness edged in gray. Fitting, he supposed.

“Ask your questions,” he conceded. “I will grant you one for one.”

“Mighty generous,” she said, her tone anything but. “We need a fire. It’s cold and the weather is turning.”

Pivoting, he tasted the wind. A chill seasoned the air. “Snow.”

“He has a Fevered with a weather gift.” The information shouldn’t have surprised him, yet it did.

“You know a great deal about him.” The thought of Adam made his gut roil. “How close are you to him?”

“Not close enough,” she admitted, folding her arms. The action pulled her duster in, helping her stay warm. “I’ve tried to kill him a half dozen times. He always survives.”

A half dozen times. She’d been closer to Adam than anyone else he’d ever met and still survived. Delilah didn’t count. Stolen by Adam, Delilah had been raised to believe he was her father and she served his vanity. Losing her had cost him…those were the injuries he responded to and he blamed the Kanes for. It was why he’d sent his attack dogs to Dorado.

A fire couldn’t harm, as long as his blood didn’t mingle with the flames. “Come, we’ll move down into the culvert. It’s dry and we can get you out of the wind.”

“The cold doesn’t bother you.” Though it wasn’t a question, he didn’t respond as he led the way down the slope. Goliath whinnied softly, not following until they were both at the base of the hill. The soft strike of his hooves against the dirt gave way to clip clops as he reached the stone floor. Wyatt continued as the culvert gave way to a hidden canyon.

“Caves,” he indicated, ascending the uneven path to the opening of one more than large enough to accommodate their needs. “I’ll bring us wood…” But Quinn had already vanished, she reappeared a moment later with a heavy satchel of cut wood. She dropped the first load, then vanished again.

Shaking his head, Wyatt lifted the wood and got it stacked properly. Goliath strolled into the cave and snorted. Quinn returned with another stack of wood, and a cheesecloth covered plate which smelled of fried chicken.

Disbelief rippled through him. The wood was one thing. “You stole food?”

“They weren’t eating it.” She set the fresh wood aside then squatted before the fire he’d stacked. “Since you have such a problem with it, I won’t go back for more.”

Wyatt gripped the girth to loosen it, but went still as fire sparked from Quinn’s outstretched hand, then leapt to the wood. It took three sparks, but soon the fire began to lick over the wood. The crackling filled the silence even as the wind howled past.

She settled next to the freshly lit fire and unfolded the cloth off the plate. Without looking at him she took a bite of a piece of chicken. Freeing the saddle, Wyatt pulled it free from Goliath and set it on a stone to air before approaching the fire and the woman confounding him.

“How the hell did you do that?” It wasn’t magic. Magic created its own ripples in the fabric of nature. The spirits might not talk to him anymore, but he wasn’t blind.

“Carefully,” she answered, before taking another bite. Despite the ease of her posture, she didn’t take her gaze off him.

“We’re not going to get anywhere like this.” He tossed his hat to the side of the fire, then dropped to squat next to the flames and across from her. Meeting her gaze, he blew out a breath. You can’t wake a person pretending to be asleep.

“Trust is a gate.” The sentiment spoke to him. “And if we know each other’s secrets, then we have no security.”

“I agreed to trade one answer for another.”

“You offered and I gave you an answer.” She pointed one of the chicken pieces at him. “If you wish to make good on your barter, you must present your information.”

Not for the first time in his existence did Wyatt wish Quanto sat with them. The old shaman would persuade her to speak. His ability to bludgeon an answer wouldn’t serve here, not when she could match him strength for strength. Another first—no, not a first. She was the second.

“I don’t have time for games, Quinn. Is Quinn your true name?” The moment the question left his lips, he shook his head. Of course it wasn’t, and it wasn’t the question to ask. If it was, she would be a fool to confirm it and if it wasn’t, then it didn’t really matter did it? “Adam MacPherson was my brother.” He chose his words carefully. “There is a truth for you.”

“He is hunting the shamans and the witches…all those who shared blood with you.” Confirmation of what he already knew. “I found the Henrys only a day before his hunters arrived. He doesn’t hunt them directly.”

“He wouldn’t…the last time he came himself, Quanto hurt him.” A battle Wyatt would have appreciated more if Quanto had allowed him to confront the bastard directly.

“From what the shaman said earlier, he marked the Kane boys.”

Kid and Jason Kane possessed two of the most powerful gifts he’d ever encountered. Kid’s…Kid’s had been deadly in his uncontrolled form. After training it, he remained dangerous, but no longer wild. “I have no evidence he attacked them.” It would have been an attack, too. Exposing them to his blood.

It was the only way Wyatt knew to turn another. Only his blood would have wrought the changes, awakening the spirits within the boys. So why those two?

“You can’t deny it, either.” Quinn finished another piece of chicken, then as if to dispute her earlier charge she offered him one. Wyatt didn’t need food. Or water for that matter. He consumed both only as a matter of form.

It made others more comfortable.

“No,” he said, agreeing with her assessment. “I can’t.” Taking the piece of chicken, he nodded before taking a bite.

“In the all years I hunted for him, I knew there had been two then believed only one of you survived. So how are there two of you now?”

“How long have you hunted?”

She paused, then shrugged. “Seven generations.”

Seven? Among his tribe, that would be centuries. She came from a clan of witches allied to another tribe, one he didn’t know. “Almost two hundred fifty years?”

A single nod was his only answer.

It seemed a long time to never give up the hunt… “You said you thought there were two, then only one. You could not get close to him.”

“No.”

“And you gave up your hunt, didn’t you?” It bothered him, what Olivia had said earlier. “Until he targeted a blind girl in Boston.”

“Yes.” The answer, without artifice or deception, carried with it the weight of the world. “I considered a life, even though I did not age. He had gone quiet, for years…I didn’t realize he’d come west. The rumors of the dead witches had only just begun to reach me, but so many of the old families faded—giving up their ties to each other.”

Hiding. Like the shamans in the west, the witches in the east would have gone into hiding and severed their ties. It afforded some protection.

“Some vanished after only a generation, without the knowledge of their ancestors. Maybe it was for the best,” she set the plate aside then wiped her fingers of the breading and the grease. The food debris went into the merrily burning fire. “Perhaps the curse binding all of their magic came at a cost, and their loss to the world was the price to pay.”

“You don’t believe that.” It was a calculated guess.

“Oh I believe there is a price for all magic, and one exacted in blood, sweat, and tears. I also believe those of the Blood are losing the war they didn’t even realize was being waged against them. The shadow one—your brother—he grew more clever. He used tools to wage his war, and his tools are harder to track.”

But not impossible. Just as his own siblings were difficult to trace, but Wyatt could do it…which suggested Quinn was capable. “You assassinated those going after the girl.”

“Yes, until today I had no idea why they targeted her. Those after her never returned and I heard the Henrys were in trouble. I had to choose between a single person and a bloodline.”

Wyatt scrubbed a hand over his face. “He couldn’t have known about the connection between Kane and the girl…” Romantic liaisons had never been his strength. A fact Katherine made painfully clear to him.

“Why not? He created them—the telepath and the empath. Who is to say he has not always watched them?”

Or…Wyatt straightened. “Jason freed Delilah.”

“The siren?” Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “She was one of his pets.”

“Yes, and a victim.” Wyatt might never fully trust the girl, but she’d earned her place with Buck. He’d protect her. “Jason Kane stole her.” In doing so, he’d taken away a powerful tool in Adam’s arsenal. A tool, which he could have brought to bear against them all. Killing Olivia would have been retaliation—”Did they try to kill the girl? Or just take her?”

“Which one?”

“Olivia.” Impatience crept through him. Quinn needed to keep up.

“I don’t know, I didn’t leave them enough rope to hang themselves. He sent three—one with strength, another with a gift for tracking blood—an unusual enough gift—and another who could turn items of one kind into another—a book to a blade for example.” She spread her hands. “You do not send such a deadly force to only kidnap one blind girl with no defenses.”

No. She might have even been a side job. “You protected her from all of them? Without her knowledge?” Olivia couldn’t know, it was a story she’d likely have shared and Scarlett loved to gossip. She would have told him.

“Yes,” she said, but didn’t make him ask. “I killed them first.”

“How?” He had and could take an army of Fevered. Their gifts he understood, and more, he knew how to use their abilities against them. The woman before him was strong, but…

Quinn smiled. “The same way I took out the Kanes, the wolf, and nearly you.”

“You can steal their power.”

“No,” she shrugged out of her duster, and it freed the long length of her hair. Her eyes were incandescent, as they seemed to glow from within. “I consumed it.”

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QUINN

A cave, the Flying K

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The fire illuminated Wyatt’s sour expression. His mismatched blue and green eyes seemed even more unusual with the firelight. The tension of his features reminded her of statues carved from stone—a strong jawline, even nose, and deep bronze tint of his skin. The mingling of his two bloodlines created beauty. Tales of his parents…they didn’t describe them in specific details.

The witch clan, however, they had a painting of his mother and his mother’s sister. The women had been exquisitely beautiful, one blonde and the other a redhead. His mother had been a woman with golden hair who captured sun-kissed blue skies in her eyes. The legend of Alicia had been well tended, the witch who’d been kidnapped from them. Her story was one they repeated, because Alicia could easily have rescued herself. She stayed because she wanted to be with the man who’d taken her.

“Explain how you consume their abilities.” He’d been silent since she dropped that nugget of information on them.

“I’m a sin eater,” she said, spreading her hands. “You are a death dealer. You should understand.”

Surprise rippled across his stern expression. “No one’s called me that in a long time.”

“Most likely because you killed anyone who might remember you that way.” It wasn’t hard to put together the puzzle pieces. “You put down the mad ones—the ones who can’t handle their abilities. Those who turn those abilities on others…those who betray the teachings of the shaman you followed.”

Shaking his head slowly, Wyatt leaned against the rock wall and crossed his arms. “How do you consume their abilities?”

He was the closest she’d ever come to Adam MacPherson. It boggled her mind that both twins survived. Every thing she’d ever learned said one died and it drove the other mad. The madness was why… “Why have you allowed him to survive all these years if you knew what he was?”

“It’s not a matter of allowing.” A deflection if she ever heard one. The icy air inside the cave threatened to burn her skin. The heat from the fire could barely compete with the cold. The man in front of her could move matter with his mind; he could capture it and affect it without ever taking a step. Fetching was as rare as her own native gift.

That was not his only ability. Like the Kane boy, ice formed around him. Why? Her gift let her read Fevered, she could see what power inhabited them as though the world unfolded to reveal the twist of magic had wrought upon them. It was also how she could leash the wolf in Cody, or lock Jason within his mind or even smother the empath’s abilities.

If they took it too far, she could unwind their abilities and absorb them. The consumption of their abilities cost her, so if she could avoid it, she did. “The shaman didn’t allow you.” It was a guess, but she’d had to deal with one coven who leashed her for a time. They’d bound her within the confines of their magic, required she protect and not hunt.

It cost them all.

“He asked for my word,” Wyatt admitted, a roughness to his voice, which had been absent in every other sentence. Real emotion. He’d loved the shaman, and more, he’d respected him. “I promised him.”

“And with his death, you are freed of your oath.” It wasn’t a question. “Alicia’s sister, she led the coven I was raised in. They bound me for three generations—then their numbers dwindled and their magic faded.” Burning their bodies and burying them on sacred ground had been a penance and a sorrow.

“You miss them even though they caged you.”

When her gaze collided with his, she read real understanding there. “The difference is you went willingly into your cage. I was bound by mine…Alicia’s sister knew my purpose. She recognized it when she read the auguries. In her words, she did not wish harm upon Alicia’s children. What they couldn’t imagine was Alicia’s children would turn on them.”

“We didn’t…” The cold one didn’t finish his sentence. “I never turned on them.”

“Well, I suppose that takes the death of those you didn’t kill directly off your conscience.”

“The only ones I have ever killed harmed others.” Ferocious statement. “Your hands are not clean.”

“No, hardly.” What she needed, however, was a drink. The fried chicken had been good. “I’ll be back.” She reached for the saloon in town. It was late and very dark. No one was awake. She stood inside the saloon she’d visited enough times to make the leap. Appearing in the shadows, she waited a moment. The interior wasn’t warm nor did it have a fire going, but the temperature increase was significant compared to the cave and the fire.

Odd.

Digging into the inside pocket of her duster, she pulled out a sack of coins. After leaving three dollars on the bar, she retrieved two bottles of whiskey. It was the finest in the place, and it would definitely go a long way toward warming the night. Particularly if she planned to charm the beast—am I planning on that?

Interesting option. Wyatt was the closest she’d managed to get to Adam. Wyatt was also powerful. Most Fevered she could take down without too much effort. He’d succeeded in taking her down…it had been an effort even when she leashed his gift, the sheer power.

Her intention had been to return to the cave immediately. Away from Wyatt, however, with warmer air around her, she tasted relief. The volume of his power had flooded her and sent ice into her veins. The cold was on the inside, not just the outside. Every living being had an aura, a quality exuded by the person. She could taste those qualities, decipher what they meant, and each time she consumed one, it changed her.

Fire sparked along her fingertips and she curled her hand into a fist. The heat pushed inward and chased the chill, leaving her sluggish. Time to test the theory.

Gripping each bottle, she pictured the cave, the fire, and Wyatt…then she stood across from him again. The horse in the corner snorted at her reappearance. Ignoring Wyatt for the moment, she studied the animal. Power shimmered over his sleek black coat, exuding from deeper within. The animal was so much more than a horse.

As if sensing her inspection, the stallion tossed his head and raised his gaze to meet hers. Intelligence glimmered in the soulful dark along with the reflection of the firelight.

“Do you have a pathological need to steal?” Wyatt’s dry tone intruded. Pivoting, she faced him once more then offered him one of the bottles.

“You don’t really care.” When he accepted the bottle from her, it only reinforced her confidence. After twisting open her bottle, she took a long swallow. The alcohol burned a path to her belly and offset the very real cold in the cave. Outside, the wind continued to howl and the first flakes of snow began to fall. “Their winter will be terrible here. He is going to seek to lock you all in.” It was a guess, but it felt right, and she’d long since learned to trust her instincts.

It was why she was still in the cave when the McKennas were back on the ranch. The family at the house would look after them. One thing their needless squabbling revealed—they were a deeply loyal bunch. They had come after her because she’d been watching the McKennas. It suggested they would protect them, even from her.

“He knows I’m coming.” The grudging admission sparked a new thought. He hadn’t opened his bottle, but he did contemplate it.

“The shaman binding you—it contained him. The weakness in the man, his illness…it had begun to free him.” Much as the fading coven around her loosened the jesses they’d placed on her abilities. She’d been able to leave them long before the last of them passed away. She’d stayed out of loyalty, much as Wyatt had honored his oath.

Strange similarities…or maybe just another weave to the pattern which had bound them since creation.

“You could say that. Hunting Quanto’s children is not a new hobby for him.” Sadness tinged the words.

“Who has he taken from you?” It was the right question. He jerked. It was almost imperceptible, but his shoulders stiffened and his jaw clenched.

The urge to ask another question burned within her, but she waited. They either made good on this armistice of theirs or they didn’t. Another long pull of whiskey occupied her. The crackling of the burning wood seemed ironic when her breath frosted before her.

“Too many.” The non-answer revealed more than he realized. Or maybe he simply didn’t care. “You want to join me on my hunt.”

“My hunt,” she reminded him, raising the bottle. “I’ll let you tag along, provided you don’t get in my way.”

“You can’t kill alone, and you will never find him on your own.” He sounded absolutely certain. “If you could have, you would have done so already.”

Valid point.

“You want to set the terms and the rules.” Again, not a question.

“I am the only one who can kill him.”

“If you could,” she said, turning his logic back on him. “You would have done so already.”

Icy silence greeted her statement. Then he unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle. “I have no reason to trust you.”

“Nor I you, but the spirits—nature, the gods, whatever you want to call them—put you in my path and me in yours.”

His grimace mirrored her own feelings on the subject. “Only one of us can lead.”

“Then we do it as partners. You need me, First One. You need what I can do and more…you can afford to risk me where you do not wish to risk your family.”

After all, he didn’t care if she died.

Raising the bottle finally, he saluted her. “Truth.”

It was a beginning.