Darker Paths (The Witches of Canyon Road Book 2) Page 25

  He paused for a moment, taking shelter in a stand of pine trees that bordered a large pasture. From here, he could see that the cluster of buildings included the main house, done in the New Mexico territorial style with a peaked roof and covered patios all around, another smaller house similar in design to the main structure, and then a detached garage and a small building that probably was a shed or a workshop.

  Rafe focused his attention on the main house, guessing that must be where Simon and Miranda were located. His vantage point didn’t allow him to see anything of what might be going on inside. Everything seemed calm and still, but that didn’t mean much. For all he knew, Miranda wasn’t even here. Escobar could have taken her someplace for the morning, maybe out to breakfast or hiking or God knows what.

  This was the right place, though. The stink of evil was so strong, Rafe didn’t even have to shift into coyote or wolf form to be able to smell it, rank and heavy, like the spray from some foul, terrible creature. For some reason, it seemed to be concentrated on a small structure he could barely spy, way out on the back pasture. A place of ritual magic, he guessed, but he decided to ignore it for now. He doubted that Simon would have allowed Miranda anywhere near the place, since the only way he could hope to persuade her to be his would be if he managed to conceal what he truly was from her.

  A low growl escaped his lips, and he wondered for a moment whether he should shift into animal form. No, that wouldn’t work; he’d have to slip out of his clothes and leave them here, and that thought was completely unappealing. Besides, he always thought better as a human, although it wasn’t as if his mind became wholly animal once he had shifted. He always retained something of himself, enough to get back to his natural form.

  In this case, though, he thought it was probably better to keep his wits about him, and stay human.

  There were enough trees on the property that it wasn’t too difficult to slip from one to another, using them as cover while he came closer and closer to the house. Now he could see there was a garden to one side, a few late hollyhocks and marigolds still hanging bravely on, although the rest of their compatriots seemed to have succumbed to autumn’s frost. He also was able to see that a long hallway extended down one side of the house, with French doors opening onto the garden. Those same doors allowed him a glimpse inside, although he couldn’t see much except a couple of long tables set up against one wall, with large paintings hung over them.

  The tree that sheltered Rafe now was the last one between him and the house. He would have no further cover once he slipped away from it. Then again, he had no idea what kind of powers Simon possessed. For all Rafe knew, the other warlock had been aware of his presence from the time he’d left the SUV parked out on the side of the road.

  Anyway, they were going to confront one another sooner or later. Rafe couldn’t stand here dithering about having adequate cover for the final leg of his approach. He just had to go for it.

  A deep breath of the cool late morning air, and then he was running through the garden, pounding over the gravel walks that separated the neat beds of flowers and vegetables. Up the stairs now, hand already on the handle of the French door. It opened easily enough — yes, it had been locked, but Simon hadn’t put any other safeguards in place. Was he really that cocky, or had he simply thought Rafe would never be able to track him down here?

  All those questions fled his mind, though, as he heard the sounds of an angry confrontation coming from somewhere down the hallway. Miranda’s voice for sure, and Simon’s as well. Just hearing those insinuating tones was enough to make the hair on Rafe’s neck stand up. He recognized that voice all too well — the voice that had told him to betray his fiancée, to throw away the delicate beginnings of a love he had only begun to acknowledge.

  Without thinking, he flung himself down the hallway, feet pounding on the brick floors. He emerged into what had to be the living room, a coolly formal space in what were probably intended to be soothing shades of cream and beige and gray. However, what he saw there only made his blood boil that much more.

  Miranda was writhing on one of the sofas, pinned beneath the dark warlock, who had grasped both her wrists in one hand while pushing up the long-sleeved T-shirt she wore with the other. Rafe caught a glimpse of a black lacy bra, then didn’t wait to see anything more. He launched himself at Simon, grasping him by the collar of his shirt and flinging him backward with a strength he didn’t even know he possessed.

  The other warlock hit the edge of the heavy plaster mantel and gave a satisfying little grunt of pain. At once Miranda leaped up from the couch and rushed toward Rafe, grabbing his arm so she could pull him away, as if she knew he planned to continue his attack.

  “You can’t fight him,” she gasped. Her eyes were wide with fear, her full mouth somehow tender and bruised, as though Simon had forced a few kisses on her before Rafe got there to tear them apart. “He’s too strong.”

  “Yes,” Simon panted, one hand going back to touch the spot where his spine had connected with the mantel. “She’s right. Nice of you to come charging in here like a hero out of an action movie, but it’s not going to do any good.”

  With his other hand, he made a strange circling gesture. At once Rafe felt something like an invisible hand catch him by the arm and spin him backward with enough force that he went flying over the arm of the couch and dropped to the floor below. As pain shuddered through his shoulder, he heard Miranda cry out — and then she, too, made a strange gesture with both hands, almost as though she was pushing the very air in front of her.

  Whatever she’d done, it seemed to have some effect, because Simon was pushed back into the fireplace once again, this time with so much force that the plaster of the mantel actually cracked, and a large piece from the edge fell onto the rug. He stumbled and dropped to his knees, the breath going out of him with a shocked “woof” of a sound.

  At once Miranda was beside Rafe, her hand going around his bicep so she could help haul him to his feet. “Come on,” she said in a fierce whisper, and began to tug him toward the door.

  “Not so fast,” came Simon’s voice from behind them.

  It was as if they’d walked into a wall of glass. Now it was Rafe’s turn to make a grunt of surprised pain — as if he wasn’t already hurting enough from that tumble he’d taken over the arm of the couch.

  “You think I’m going to let you take her from me?” Simon asked, his voice taut with anger. “After everything I’ve done to get her here, to get her to see what I could offer her? You don’t deserve her, Castillo. You never thought about her, thought about what she felt, what she needed. You only thought about what you wanted.”

  Rafe wanted to shout out his denial, but as much as he despised the Escobar warlock, he knew there was some truth in the other man’s words. He turned slowly, meeting Simon’s black glare. “Maybe so. But what about what Miranda wants? From what I saw when I walked in here a minute ago, she didn’t look too happy about being with you.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” she said. Her eyes might as well have been pools of green fire, they were so filled with fury. “I don’t want you, Simon. You lied to me over and over again. You’ve hurt people — good people who didn’t deserve what you did to them.”

  He stepped closer, hands knotted into fists at his side. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Miranda. You just need to let me have some time with you so I can show you — ”

  “Show me what? How to use black magic to get what I want? I’m not that kind of witch, Simon. I’ve told you that already.”

  Looking at Miranda then, at the way she stood there like a queen, head high despite her disheveled hair and smeared makeup, Rafe knew he loved her, knew that he probably didn’t deserve her but would do whatever he could to make her happy.

  First, though, they had to get the hell out of here.

  And he knew what he had to do.

  “I don’t need black magic,” Simon snapped. “My powers are strong enough that I can get what I want
all on my own.”

  “Then what’s with the shed? The candles? The bowl? If you’re so powerful, why all the gimmicks?”

  Miranda was playing a very dangerous game by confronting Simon like that, but the worry that coursed through Rafe wasn’t enough to prevent him from focusing on his own plan. As far as he could tell, Simon wasn’t even paying attention to him, had his gaze fixed entirely on the woman who stood before him, as if he thought that he could bend her to his will merely by staring at her.

  Maybe he could. Rafe still didn’t know how Simon had managed to make him say those terrible words at the cathedral. So far, it seemed as if Miranda was immune to that kind of mind control, but who knew how long she could hang on?

  Transforming inside his clothes was uncomfortable, but he could do it if he had to. Luckily, his power allowed him to shift instantaneously. It wasn’t like the movies, where werewolves always seemed to have these long, painful transitions. One second he was a man; the next, a large Mexican gray wolf burst forth from within his discarded clothing and leapt for Simon’s throat.

  The warlock put up both hands to defend himself. All that gesture accomplished, however, was to allow him to get knocked off balance and topple to the floor, his head missing the coffee table by mere inches.

  Too bad. If he’d managed to brain himself, it would have been much better for everyone involved.

  Rafe’s teeth sank into one of Simon’s forearms. The taste of the dark warlock’s blood made Rafe want to gag, for it was just as tainted as the rest of him, black and foul, more like the ichor of an insect than the blood of a true human. Still, that wasn’t enough to make him back off. Instead, his teeth sank in even more deeply as Simon let out a groan of pain.

  But then — then the warlock was lifting his free hand, making the same odd circular gesture he’d performed a few minutes earlier. In the next instant, Rafe was torn away from Simon’s arm and thrown through the air, landing a few yards away with a painful thud on the brick floor. Whimpering, he forced himself to his feet and began to limp back toward his adversary.

  He didn’t get very far before Miranda came to him and sank her fingers into the thick fur at his neck. “Don’t do it,” she whispered. “He’ll kill you.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re coming to your senses,” Simon remarked. He was standing again, ignoring the blood that coursed from the gash in his forearm and dripped onto the expensive rug beneath his feet. “Step away from that creature, Miranda. Step away, and come to me.”

  “No,” she said.

  A flash of irritation crossed Simon’s lean features. “Stop acting like an idiot, Miranda. You’re strong, but you’re not strong enough to defeat me. You couldn’t even get away from me a few minutes ago when you tried.”

  “You’re right,” she replied. “I couldn’t then. But I thought about it, and I figured out what you were doing. So I can teleport now.”

  In the next instant, she had dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around Rafe’s neck. Before he could even blink, the coolly elegant room and the infuriated warlock standing in it had disappeared, and then Rafe whirled through darkness for an infinitely long split second before they reappeared, crouched on the floor in his own living room. He blinked at her in surprise.

  “Can you turn back into yourself now?” Miranda asked, and got wearily to her feet. “I think we need to talk.”

  19

  Darker Paths

  Miranda

  As I watched, the wolf turned back into Rafe — a very naked Rafe. True, he was sort of crouched down, so I couldn’t see everything, but….

  It was hard to say who was more embarrassed, Rafe or me. Even as hot blood flooded my cheeks, he muttered, “Um, give me a minute,” and fled for the stairs. However, his haste didn’t prevent me from getting a very good look at his muscular bare ass as he ran down the hall.

  Well, then.

  I ran a hand through my hair and sort of stumbled over to the couch so I could sit down. Everything had happened so fast, it was hard for me to register the fact that I was now sitting in Rafe’s living room. I’d managed to flee from Simon before he could stop me.

  I was safe. More than that, Rafe was safe, too…because I’d used my powers to get us both way from Simon. As frightened as I’d been — as I still was — I couldn’t quite prevent a flush of happiness from filling me at that realization.

  Well, we were safe for now, anyway. I wasn’t about to fool myself into thinking that he couldn’t track me down; with all the research Simon had done on me and the Castillos, I figured it was a pretty sure bet that he knew exactly where Rafe lived. True, he might not have guessed that we’d come here first, might have thought we’d go straight to Genoveva’s place, but I couldn’t count on him looking elsewhere before he turned his attention to Rafe’s home.

  I needed to do something.

  Like so many spells or powers or whatever you wanted to call the magic I’d begun to practice, I’d never tried this one before. However, I knew it existed, because it was the talent that my cousin Caitlin’s husband Alex had been born with.

  Closing my eyes, I imagined an invisible bubble of protection encasing the house, securing everything within against magical attack. Or rather, this bubble was supposed to protect against any kind of assault, magical or not, but I sort of doubted that we had to worry about being assailed by the local SWAT team or whatever. Once it was in place, I felt as though I could breathe a little more easily. I didn’t know for sure whether Simon could get through the shield I’d created or not — he was so very strong — but it was better than sitting here and doing nothing.

  Rafe come down the stairs then, barefoot, dressed in a pair of faded jeans and an army-green henley shirt. He was so amazingly handsome — and so reassuringly not Simon — that I wanted to go and throw myself into his arms. But I hesitated, not sure what I should do. He’d been horrible to me at the chapel, so why had he suddenly come running to my rescue? Guilt? I couldn’t think of any other reason why he would go to so much effort to save me.

  Before I could do or say anything, he’d come over to the couch and sank down next to me, his hands reaching for mine. They were warm and strong, and I never wanted him to let go.

  “I am so sorry, Miranda,” he said, sincerity ringing through every syllable. “At the chapel — that wasn’t me. That was Simon’s words coming out of my mouth, the words he wanted me to say so you would go running to him. I would never say anything like that to you because it would all be lies. I did want to get married — I do want to get married.”

  Of course. I should have known that Rafe’s rejection had only been another one of Simon’s maneuverings. The relief that rushed over me was so intense, tears sprang to my eyes and began to flow down my cheeks.

  “Don’t cry,” he whispered. “Don’t cry, Miranda — it’s all going to be okay.”

  Then he was kissing me, mouth pressed against mine with all the passion and tenderness I’d remembered but had thought must only be a cruel dream. This was the real Rafe, the man I’d allowed myself to fall in love with.

  I wanted nothing more than to be there with him forever, his arms around me, every touch, every kiss helping to erase the darkness in which Simon had tried to drown me. Deep down, though, I knew this was only a pleasant interlude. I knew the man who had tried to steal my heart would not let it go this easily.

  “Rafe,” I said at last, once I was able to regain my breath. “We really do need to talk.”

  He pulled away from me, but with clear reluctance. “I know. It’s just — I thought I had lost you. We couldn’t find any trace of you, and nothing we tried worked. Even Marco — ” He stopped then, face going very still, as though he was struggling with emotions he didn’t quite want to face.

  “I know,” I said quietly. “Simon told me.”

  “He told — ” The words broke off as Rafe stared at me, terrible comprehension flaring in his warm brown eyes, so different from Simon’s cold black ones. “Simon killed Marco
to keep him from telling us where you were.”

  “Yes. That is,” I went on, “he says he didn’t mean to kill him. He sent the stroke that put him in the coma, but the heart attack came from Marco struggling to get you the information you needed. Not that it makes any real difference, as far as I’m concerned. I’m so sorry, Rafe. I feel like this is all my fault.”

  “Your fault?” he repeated, with some incredulity. “How can any of this possibly be your fault, except that you had the bad luck to attract the attention of a psychopath like Simon Escobar?”

  “Wasn’t that enough?” I replied, guilt twisting within me. “If it hadn’t been for me — ”

  “You can stop that right now.” His tone was firm, and he reached out to touch my cheek briefly, the tenderness of even that soft brush of his fingers against my skin enough to send a ripple of warmth all through my body. “Because I could say, well, if it hadn’t been for my mother insisting on having you come here, then Simon Escobar would have had no reason to hurt Marco, would he? How far back do you want to cast blame? There’s no point, because the only person responsible for all this is Simon. Full stop. Understand?”

  “Yes,” I said meekly, and Rafe actually chuckled.

  “Meekness doesn’t really suit you, sweetheart.” He leaned over and kissed me, a soft and gentle kiss that was still somehow a promise of much more. “You were pretty impressive back there, you know. What was that thing you did with your hands to push Simon away?”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yeah, that.”

  “I don’t know, exactly,” I said. “That is, my magic seems to work differently from most people’s. I just sort of have to think of something, and I can make it happen. When I saw Simon attack you, I knew I could probably do something similar. It was sort of like this toy my parents gave me when I was a kid — it looked like a plastic cone, and it had a plastic bladder inside and some elastic you pulled. When you let go of the elastic, it created a sort of air bomb. I mean, it pushed the air so that you could actually feel it hit you. I just imagined the same sort of thing, only a lot harder. And it seemed to have worked.”