Blood Moon Page 22

  A loud crack of thunder shook the trees. Lightning flashed. Willa flinched and lifted her hood onto her head as the first icy drops fell from the clouds. Behind her, Rowan chanted under his breath, casting spells to help mask their approach. The heat of magic moved around them, warming her cheeks, pushing away the chill.

  The moonstone suddenly died in her hand, the light gone. “Rowan, it’s gone,” she whispered. They were still standing in the trees, but ahead, about twenty feet, gray light filtered down into a large clearing. Peering through the trees, she could just make out the black mouth of a cave. Goose bumps rose on her arms.

  Rowan gestured to the rest of the covens, and the witches spread out in both directions. Willa squinted and watched for movement. Her heart began to beat a staccato rhythm against her sternum, punching at her ribs. She wondered what they would find when they made it to the cave. Too many scary images pushed into her mind, making her heart beat even faster. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

  “Stay with me,” Charlotte whispered, appearing at Willa’s side. She looked at her in the darkness and Charlotte took her hand. “Push those thoughts away. Just focus on Simon. We’re gonna get them out.”

  She swallowed the knot of emotion and squeezed Charlotte’s hand.

  Soon, all the other witches were gathered around, an eerie anticipation crackling in the air.

  “There are only four Dark witches watching the cave and a few spells blocking it,” Rowan said, addressing them all. “Remember what I said.” He let out a long breath. “Let’s go.”

  Simon and Wynter scrambled to their feet at the sudden onslaught of noise outside the cave. A burst of wind forced itself into the small chamber and the Dark witch standing only a few feet from them quickly moved to the entrance.

  “What’s going on?” Simon asked. The witch, stout and broad, ignored him. Simon glanced at Wynter whose eyes were pinched in fear. He rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder and then walked forward. Commotion was brewing outside—flashes of orange light, yelling, pounding feet.

  Is it . . .?

  Simon dared to hope, stepping up right next to the witch.

  Wind churned the leaves, the spray of water hit his face. The three other Dark witches lined up in front of the cave, throwing back a defense to whatever was coming from the trees. Simon peered out into the dark trees.

  Willa?

  Finally, the guard noticed his progression forward. “Get back!” he hissed and wheeled around to face Simon.

  Simon stood his ground. “What’s happening?”

  The man looked out into the fight, now escalating in intensity, and then back at Simon.

  “I said, GET BACK!” The witch pushed his hand through the air and, with a flash of magic, sent Simon hurling backwards.

  Simon hit the solid, rough rock with a grunt, his bones crunching and shifting with the impact. Pain shot outward through his chest and back. Wynter hustled over to him, placed a hand on his back.

  “Holy moon! Simon, are you hurt badly?”

  With his eyes squeezed shut against the pain, Simon forced a full breath back into his lungs. A spark of anger flared and expanded in his gut, raging hot up his throat. Despite the awful pain, he pushed himself up, Wynter watching with worried eyes. The pain would subside as soon as his power healed whatever damage was done.

  Quietly, he moved toward the opening, ignoring Wynter’s whispered pleas to stop. His chest heaved, the anger inside him suddenly seething. The guard had taken a few steps outward and was throwing his magic into the fight by levitating large rocks and hurling them at the trees. Simon came up behind him, ready to plow into the man. Since his magic was blocked by Archard’s spell, he figured brutal force would work just fine.

  Just as he was ready to lunge forward, Willa’s voice broke into his mind.

  Simon!

  Power surged in his blood. The sound of her voice was enough to make every muscle tense, every part of him burn to be with her. He squinted into the trees, trying to see her through the chaos.

  Willa! I’m here.

  Simon! Are you okay? Wynter?

  Yes, we are okay. Are you?

  Yes, but the fight is hard. Archard has protected the cave with some spell. Rowan is trying to break it so we can get you out, but it’s hard in all this chaos.

  Simon took a few quick steps forward. The Dark witch spun around, again throwing Simon back against the hard rock. The pain was worse this time and he was sure he’d cracked a few ribs. Struggling for breath, he lay on the ground, the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. Wynter rushed over. “Simon, stop it! We can’t use our magic in here. I can’t protect you”

  Impatiently, he waited while his ribs moved back together and healed. When he could draw a breath without his eyes watering, he sat up. The spark of anger inside him grew to a raging fire. Simon felt something shift inside him, felt a blitz of heat surge out from the center of his chest into his muscles. He glared at the back of the witch.

  He jumped to his feet and moved forward, knowing exactly what he would do. When Simon was a step away, the witch spun, ready to strike him with more magic, but Simon was quick. He grabbed the man’s wrist and looked him directly in the eyes.

  “Stay out of my way,” Simon growled.

  The force inside him flowed into his words and moved out his mouth in a thick ripple of heat. It washed over the Dark witch, hitting him in the face like a punch. The witch cowered beneath the power of the words, collapsing to the floor and scrambling away from Simon as fast as possible.

  Simon touched his hand to the stone of the cave and in a whoosh of cold air, the spell blocking Light magic shattered.

  Simon stepped out into the clearing and peered into the trees again. He almost cried out when Willa’s slender form stepped forward. All the light in the clearing converged in one radiant beam on her face. His connection to her blazed under his skin, sending more potent energy to every nerve.

  Through the pandemonium, his eyes found hers.

  Thunder split the sky and the rain fell faster, now in thick sheets. It fell like tiny shards of glass, each drop diamond-bright and sparkling. Through the glittering rain, Simon held Willa’s eyes and a crystalline connection formed between them across the open space. It gathered all the power inside him into a burning ball and then it flashed to life, transformed, like a star being born.

  Without dropping her gaze, Simon moved up behind the three other Dark witches. When they turned at the sound of his approach, he raised his hand and let out a blast of pure magic that catapulted them across the clearing.

  They crumpled to the ground without a sound.

  The Light witches emerged from the trees, staring at him with wide eyes and gaping mouths, but Simon didn’t notice. He ran across the now silent clearing to sweep Willa into his arms. He lifted her off the ground and pulled her against his chest as tightly as he dared. Then, he set her down and took her face in his trembling hands. Her hair was heavy with water, flat against her head, tears running down her cheeks onto his fingers. Her eyes shone in the darkness.

  “My Willa,” he whispered, the words blurring together as his lips found hers. Sparks of magic fell from their joined lips, igniting little fires in the dried leaves, quickly extinguished by the rain.

  From the entrance to the cave, Wynter watched Simon with equal parts awe and concern. An odd blue power pulsed off the boy’s body as he raced over to Willa. She turned her head to look at the Dark witches’ unmoving bodies, sure they were all dead.

  Did he mean to do it? How did he do it?

  Her attention was pulled away from Simon by Rowan running full speed across the clearing. She fell into his arms, sobbing.

  “I’m here, I’m here,” he cooed. “You’re safe.”

  “Rowan . . . he cut me . . . I thought . . .”

  “I know. I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you,” Rowan cried. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  Wynter sniffled. “Simon . . . He . . . stopped that witch with his voice. I’ve
never seen . . .”

  “What witch?” Rowan’s eyes flashed. “The fourth witch! Where?”

  Wynter saw the rock too late to warn him. It slammed into the back of Rowan’s head with a sickening crack and he collapsed. Wynter screamed and tried to lift Rowan up, but the witch grabbed her and yanked her away, dragging her out into the rain.

  “Rowan! No, let me go!” she screamed.

  Wynter struggled against his hold, her eyes on Rowan, blood now seeping through his hair. When Wynter screamed his name, he rolled and forced himself as far up as his knees.

  “STOP!” he commanded, and the Dark witch spun back around.

  Wynter used her magic to push the witch. He landed hard in the mud a few feet away. Rowan thrust his hand out to open a crack in the earth under the man. With a chilling scream the witch fell into the earth and was swallowed whole. Rowan closed the fissure with a clenching of his fist.

  Wynter hurried to him. The blood was soaking his shirt now and Wynter’s stomach filled with panic. “Simon!” she screamed. Rowan collapsed forward into the mud. “No, no, no. Rowan!”

  He didn’t move when she called his name.

  “Simon!”

  Simon was at her side. “What happened?”

  “His head,” she said in a shaking voice.

  Simon dropped to his knees and took Rowan’s hand. A moment later, Rowan groaned and rolled over. Wynter scrambled closer to take his head in her lap. “Rowan?”

  “I’m fine.” His eyes rolled over to Simon. “Thank you.”

  Simon nodded. “What happened?”

  “That guard was still by the cave,” Wynter explained.

  “Oh,” Simon gasped. “I’m sorry. I forgot about him.”

  Rowan shook his head. “We all did. It’s okay.”

  Darby, Cal, and the others all gathered around, some throwing sideways glances at Simon. The rain continued to pour down in heavy sheets. They were soaked and freezing.

  “So where’s Archard?” Darby said. “The other Dark witches can’t be far away.”

  Rowan sat up. “He’ll come,” He turned to look at Wynter. “Can you fight?”

  She smiled, pushed back her wet hair. “Oh, yes. He’s hurt us enough. Let’s end it.”

  He smiled as Wynter took his face in her hands and kissed him.

  Simon helped Rowan to his feet and Wynter took her husband’s hand. She heard a high-pitched whistling sound only a second before a fireball hit the center of the clearing and exploded.

  Chapter 30

  Waxing Crescent

  Present Day, October

  Willa saw the fireball descend out of the sky. Simon grabbed her and threw her to the ground covering her body with his. She clenched her eyes shut and waited for the fiery impact, but it didn’t come. She and Simon looked up to see the Waters, Rain and Corbin, had acted impressively quick, using the falling rain to form a shield of water, protecting all the Light witches from the flames.

  Rowan called out, “Simon and Willa, get back in the trees. This is going to get ugly.”

  Willa looked at Simon and saw the flash of defiance in his eyes. “Simon?”

  “I’m not hiding in the trees. Archard is the whole reason we are here. He violated your mind, had one of his witches stab you in the heart and he almost killed Wynter just so he could watch me heal her.” He pushed up and held out a hand to her. “I’m fighting. Stay with me and I’ll keep you safe.”

  Willa took his hand, ready to argue, but stopped. Her own hatred for Archard welled up inside her, spinning into a burning need to fight. “Let’s go.”

  He smiled and turned away.

  “Wait!” Willa grabbed his arm. He turned back. “Simon, how did you do that?” she asked quietly, shifting her eyes to the Dark witches’ bodies. The joy of having Simon back and the energy of their reunion were still racing in her blood, euphoric, but it was dulled slightly by what she’d watched him do. It had been necessary, but she didn’t understand how he’d done it. The other Light witches hadn’t demonstrated that kind of power.

  Simon followed her gaze, his brows furrowed. “I have no idea.”

  Willa stepped closer to ask more, but Archard and his remaining five witches broke through the water shield. The water exploded and rocketed outward, hitting her and Simon like bullets. Then a hailstorm of rocks and whole trees ripped from their roots came at them. Simon grabbed Willa’s hand and they dove out of the path of a falling pine tree. It crashed behind them. She blinked at it, breathless, body aching, turning her attention back to the clearing.

  Willa searched the chaos for Rowan and Wynter. Rowan suddenly broke out of the trees, charging forward like a bull to red, his hands lifted, spewing magic, aimed directly at Archard.

  The rest of the Light witches were fighting the other Darks. One Dark witch was already lifeless on the ground, the victim of a swift cuff of air snapping her neck, courtesy of Hazel. A sound to Willa’s right made her jump and lift her hands.

  Charlotte and Elliot ran toward them. “It’s just us!” Char yelled. “Simon! Can you sense Archard’s intentions?” she asked breathlessly. “If you can read him, I can direct Rowan. Unless, of course, you can do that crazy thing you did before and just end this now.”

  Simon frowned, ignored the question, and looked out to where Rowan and Archard stood locked in a struggle of opposing flames in the center of the clearing. The ground bucked and shook under them, the quakes rippling out to shake the whole clearing. The power and heat Simon had felt inside him before that had enabled him to defeat the other witches was gone now and he had no idea how to get it back. Simon moved his eyes to the dead witches. How did I do that?

  Shaking his head, he focused on Archard, cracking the door in his mind only to the Dark witch. First, there was nothing; it was too hard to break through all the raging energy and emotions, but then he felt a tenuous thread of connection. He grabbed onto it and held tight. “Archard is . . . angry. Whoa. I’ve never felt anger like this.”

  Charlotte closed her eyes. “I’ll try to get a connection to Rowan’s mind.”

  Simon watched Rowan closely. Archard was pushing him back, strain evident in the curve of his shoulders and trembling arms. Then Rowan flinched, his eyes flashed to the trees.

  “I got it,” Char said. “He’s listening. What else you got, Simon?”

  Simon tugged on the thread of Archard’s presence. “He’s very confident he can beat Rowan.” Simon gasped. “Tell Rowan to duck!”

  Rowan ducked, barely missing the aspen tree that came at him from behind.

  Simon exhaled in relief and refocused. Elliot said, “They’ve killed two more Dark witches. It’s just that blonde one who stabbed us and some guy with glasses left.”

  Simon narrowed his eyes, reaching further. He felt a shift in Archard’s emotions. “His anger is getting out of control. He’s . . .” What is that? Simon closed his eyes. A tremor of panic moved out of Archard. “He’s panicking. He knows that most of his witches are dead. Tell Rowan to push hard. Archard will make a mistake.”

  “Good!” Char said, her eyes still squeezed shut. “Rowan says he has a plan, but he’ll need our help.”

  Out of the side of his eye, Archard saw two more of his witches go down. His covens were lost; there was nothing left. Even if he killed Rowan and all the Light witches, he still had no chance of binding a Covenant. He’d failed! Just like his grandfather. The blood moon would rise with his shame.

  No! How did this happen? This can’t be happening.

  Anger, red and blinding, roiled inside him, his actions turned desperate. He threw anything he could think of at Rowan, but the damned Light witch was much stronger than he anticipated. Desperate, he growled and charged forward, tackling Rowan to the mud.

  A foolish move; Rowan had the size and muscle advantage in a fistfight. His large fist slammed into Archard’s ribs and he choked on his breath, sputtering at the lightning pain. Like a rabid animal, he lashed out, biting, scratching. Rowan tucked his head, s
pun, and kicked, putting the force of his magic into the movement. Archard sailed through the air to crash near the entrance of the cave.

  His anger overcame his pain and he was on his feet in seconds, just in time for Rowan to plow into his middle, sending them both tumbling into the cave. The stone tore through his suit and chewed up his skin.

  He pushed fire into his hands and dug his fingers into Rowan’s back. The witch yelled as the flames burned the flesh on his back. Archard cackled in Rowan’s ear. Rowan threw Archard off and he hit the wall of the cavern, slumping to the ground. His vision filled with black spots.

  When Archard managed to get to his feet, Rowan was nowhere in sight. Archard threw his head from side to side and spun, looking for his opponent, waiting for the next attack. Only a sliver of light entered the cave and he quickly lifted his palm to ignite a small flame, which flickered to life, suspended over his skin, to illuminate the cavern.

  He was alone.

  Moving cautiously, his breath heaving, his anger seething, Archard approached the entrance of the cave. Wynter stood there, her hands lifted. He laughed, loud, the sound echoing off the stone. He straightened up and sauntered forward.

  “So, Rowan runs away to let his woman finish the job, huh?”

  Wynter didn’t move, didn’t react; she stood like stone, glaring back at him. Archard stopped only a foot in front of her—him still in the cave, she just outside it.

  “Go ahead, Wynter. Take your revenge. Take your revenge for those two coven-mates I killed, slowly and painfully. Take it for every time Holmes touched you, cut you, every time he ravaged your mind. Take it for last night when I almost let you bleed out all over this cave.”

  Wynter’s jaw twitched and Archard knew he had her. “You know each time you kill another human being you touch the Darkness,” he hissed. “And I see you had no problem killing Holmes or my coven-mates.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You have more Darkness in you than you think, Wynter. You should have joined me. We would have made a great team.”

  Wynter flinched again, and this time he lunged forward, only to crash into a magical barrier, a wall of Light magic. With a growl, he lifted his hands and sent a blast of cold Dark magic at it, certain it would crumble. He tried again and again, his growls of anger escalating into bone-rattling shrieks. He tried the few spells he could remember from Bartholomew’s grimoire, but still he was trapped.