Circle of Death (Damask Circle 2)

Thunder rumbled again, a deep, dangerous sound. The wind became sharper, stronger, tugging at his coat, thrusting like ice against his skin. Kirby sat in a sea of calm, the circle untouched by the rising wind. But the sense of power was building, flaring across the night, reaching for the storm-held skies.

He thrust his hand into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the silver knife hidden there. If all hell broke loose, it might be his only hope of protecting her. Silver was immune to magic—and it was the one weapon that could slice through the circle’s protection.

Light leapt upward, following the trail of energy. The skies answered its call. Rain lashed downward, needle sharp and drenching. Water plastered his hair and ran like a river down his back. He ignored it, watching her, waiting.

Thunder rumbled again, long and hard. Lightning clapped, and the air shook at its fury. Energy streaked across the night and splintered into two—one jagged finger leaping back up into the fury of the clouds, the other arcing downward, toward the ground. Toward her. No! He stepped forward, but before he could do anything more, the fork of lighting crashed into the circle, through Kirby, and exploded into the earth.

The force of the blast lifted him off his feet and thrust him back. He hit the ground with a grunt of pain, for an instant seeing nothing but a shroud of darkness. He coughed, barely able to breathe, fear clenching his gut tight. What if he’d been wrong? What if this spell hadn’t come from Helen, but from the witch who was trying to kill her?

I can’t lose her now. He thrust to his feet, then stopped, stunned. She wasn’t even hurt. She was still sitting in the circle, but her arms were spread wide, as if greeting the electricity that played around her—through her. Another bolt arced down from the skies, splitting as it neared her outstretched hands, running across her fingers, her skin, until her whole body seemed to glow with the storm’s heat.

The air screamed around him. Rain lashed him, lashed her, shredding her nightdress and pounding against her pale skin. Red welts rose, then just as quickly faded, but she didn’t seem to notice—didn’t even flinch. Her gaze was still skyward, as if entranced by the fiery light that danced through her. He tried to touch her mind, wanting to be sure she was okay. The wall of power that met him pushed him off his feet and nearly blew his senses.

He struggled up again. The thunder rumbled—a muted sound that quickly faded. A heartbeat later, the rain and wind also died, and the sudden silence felt almost eerie. Kirby was still sitting cross-legged in the circle, but she was slumped forward, as if all her energy had been sapped by the force of the storm.

He walked toward her. Energy tingled across his skin, a warning that the protection of the circle was still in place. He stopped at the perimeter, not wanting to enter unless it was absolutely necessary. He could hurt her if he did.

“Kirby?”

She stirred and rubbed her arms, groaned softly, then looked up. Her eyes were no longer entirely green, but ringed by a smoky silver band, as if the lightning had branded her. “God, everything is aching.”

He wasn’t surprised. After being hit by so much lightning, it was a wonder she was even alive. He clenched his fingers, wanting to touch her, hold her, make sure she was really okay. She looked okay—beyond her eyes, she looked amazingly untouched. But he still had to be sure.

“You have to close the circle. Imagine that orb again. Feel it, then draw its power back through your fingertips and down into your body. Relax with it.”

She took a deep breath and resumed her meditation position. After a few minutes, the tingling sensation of power died. She opened her eyes. “Now the broom?”

He nodded. She grabbed the broom lying on the ground behind her, then pushed upright, her movements unsteady. He flexed his fingers, watching impatiently as she slowly brushed at the salt that defined the confines of the circle. It was a symbolic gesture more than a necessary one, a way of grounding her spirit back to the Earth after the spell’s force. When the last of the salt had been swept away, he entered the circle, taking off his coat and quickly wrapping it around her. She huddled into it, body trembling and lips blue with cold.

“Let’s get you back inside.” He picked her up, holding her close as he raced back into the house. “I think you’d better take a shower and warm up.”

“No.” She touched his cheek, her fingers like ice against his skin. “Just lie with me, hold me.”

Her voice was distant, frail. Worry snaked through him. He took her upstairs, peeling away the remains of the nightdress before tucking her under the blankets. He stripped off his own clothes and climbed in beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

“So cold,” she murmured, nestling against him.

“I know.” It felt like he was hugging ice rather than a flesh-and-blood woman. He pulled the thick comforter over them both, then ran his hands up and down her arms, trying to get some heat into her. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. Cold.” A tremor ran through her, through the link between them. But her thoughts, like her voice, were still distant, still weak. “My hair hurts.”

No surprise there. Given the force of the energy that had flowed through her, it was a wonder she hadn’t been burned to a crisp. “Would you like some coffee? Something to warm you up?”

“No. Just hold me.”

He did, long into the night. It was close to dawn by the time the ice melted from her skin, and she began to retain some heat and regain her color. He didn’t relax, just held her close, listening to her breathe and fighting the growing need to close his eyes and catch some sleep himself.

Dawn came and went. Light crept past the curtains, slithering heat and warmth into the room. Birds chirped noisily, cows mooed and, somewhere in the distance, a tractor spluttered and chugged. Finally, she stirred, though it was more a soft sigh of pleasure than any real sense of movement. The quick thrust of heat through the link told him she was not only awake, but aroused.

He ran his hand up the warm length of her body and gently teased a nipple to life. Amusement ran through her thoughts, warm and lazy. But she didn’t stir and didn’t open her eyes. Making him do all the work, he thought with a smile.

He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her ear, all the while continuing to stroke her breasts. Her breathing became sharper, and the link between them grew hazy with need—his as well as hers. He pressed himself against her, thrusting gently against the round perfection of her bottom. She sighed again and reached back, touching him. Her caress ran heat through his body and almost shattered his control. He groaned and ran his fingers down her stomach to the mound of her hair. She shifted slightly, opening her legs to his touch. Lord, she felt wonderful—warm and wet and oh so ready for him. He stroked her gently, teasingly, bringing her close to the edge of a climax before pulling away.

“Tease,” she murmured, her breathing hot and hard.

He smiled and continued his gentle exploration of her body. Got lost in the wonder and warmth of it, until the ache in him was a fire that burned through the link, wrapping them in passion and love.

Love that was returned, even if she wouldn’t admit it.