Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(64)

“All the way down now, Iona.”

“I’m trying. It’s so strong.”

“It’s you who made it. It’s you who’s strong.”

She’d made it, she thought. She’d control it. She’d end it.

“Still now,” she said. “And soft. Calm and sweet. Disperse.”

The wolf dropped like a stone in the light breeze. Then sprang up, fangs dripping. Did the red jewel seem dimmer? she wondered.

Then it leapt into the woods, pulsing out a curtain of smoky fog. After one distant howl, silence fell again.

“It could come back.” All calm deserted her as her hands shook, as her voice jumped. “It could come back. We need to get the horses in. I need to make sure the stables are safe. It—”

“That’s what we’ll do. Breathe a minute. You’ve gone dead pale.”

“I’m all right.” Under her Alastar pawed the ground. He’d pursue, she realized—longed to. To calm him, she had to calm herself. “We’ve done enough,” she said softly. “It’s enough for now. I need to tell Branna, Connor. But the horses—”

“We’re going now, easy.”

“Easy.” She took those breaths, then laid her hand on Alastar’s neck, and over on Darling’s. “Easy,” she repeated. “It won’t hurt you. I . . . didn’t know you had a knife. A really big knife.”

“A pity I didn’t get to use it.” Those gilded eyes hard, he sheathed the blade again. “But worth it for the show I suppose. And you need more lessons on this business.”

“Absolutely. That one wasn’t even on the lesson plan.”

“What do you mean?”

“I read it in a book. I guess you could say I added a bar to the jump. It seemed like the time.”

“In a book. She read it in a book. Christ Jesus.”

“I could really use a drink.”

“You’re not alone there.”

She didn’t say more, needed to steady herself. Needed to tell her cousins, she thought again. Needed, really, to sit down on something that didn’t move.

They were nearly back to the stables before she could think clearly, or almost clearly again. “Darling was so scared. For herself, but for you, too. My fire scared her, too. I wish I’d thought of something else.”

“She did just fine. Wanted to bolt, but didn’t. You may not know it, but that one? He was a rock under you. He never, from that first start, flinched a muscle. I’m thinking he would have done whatever you asked, even up to charging through the fire and taking the beast by the scruff.”

“I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to tell him. He just knew. I need to call Branna.”

“I’ll see to that.”

When they reached the stables, he dismounted, then stepped over to her. “Come on down then.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“That’s what these are for.” He lifted his hands, took hold of her, helped her down. “Go sit on the bench there for a minute or two.”

“The horses.”

“They’ll be seen to, and well, what do you think?” The sizzle of impatience had her obeying. And her shaky legs carried her to the bench, almost wept with gratitude as she sat.

When Boyle came out, she managed to get to her feet. “I need to do a protection spell, for the stables.”

“Do you think Fin hasn’t already seen to that?” Boyle simply took her arm, pulled her along. “He’s not due home for a few hours, but I think he knows what he’s about in these matters. Branna knows where you are. She’ll tell Connor.”

“Where am I going?”

“Up to mine, where you’ll have that drink and sit a bit more.”

“I could really use both.”

She climbed the stairs with him. Not exactly the circumstances she’d imagined for her first invitation into his place, but she’d take it.

He opened the door off a narrow porch. “Company wasn’t expected.”

She peeked in first, then smiled. “Thank God it’s not all neat and tidy or I’d feel intimidated. But it’s nice.” She stepped in, looked around.

It smelled like him—horses, leather, man. The room, a kind of combination living/sitting/kitchen, let in the early evening light. A mug sat next to the sink, a newspaper lay spread on the short counter that separated the kitchen from the rest.

A couple of books and some magazines were scattered around—mystery novels, she noted, and horsey magazines. A tumble of boots in a wooden box, a clutter of old jackets on pegs. A sofa with a little sag in the middle, two big chairs, and, to her surprise, a big flat screen on the wall.

He noticed her speculative look. “I like it for watching matches and such. You’ll have some whiskey.”

“I absolutely will, and a chair. I get shaky after it’s all done.”

“You were steady enough while it counted.”

“I almost lost it.” She spoke as he went to the kitchen, opened cupboards. “You helped me hold on.”

Since she was here, and safe, and it was done, he could speak of it. Or try. “You were glowing like a flame. Your eyes so deep it seemed like worlds could be swallowed up by them. You reached up, and you pulled a storm from the sky with your hand. I’ve seen things.”