Protector

Chapter 1-3

“Yeah, we witches, we’re all related somehow,” Jorge said, and for some reason Tomas seemed to find that amusing, because he began to chuckle.

If only she had enough breath to ask him what was so funny. At the moment, she felt as if she were about to pass out at any second. And of course Roslyn and Danica weren’t paying any attention to her, were still staring up at Matías with that gaga expression on their faces, which didn’t make sense at all, because although he was good-looking, he wasn’t that good-looking. Not really.

They turned a corner into a residential tract with modest one-story homes, most of them built in the Southwest style with flat roofs, and all of them with gravelly front yards planted with cactus and other drought-tolerant species. It all appeared relatively normal, if somewhat exotic to her eyes. She was used to the Victorian architecture in Jerome, or the wood-framed houses common in Flagstaff. But nothing here seemed particularly strange, especially for Tucson.

It felt like it, though, worry running up and down her skin as if every ant within a square mile had started to march over her flesh. She knew she should be saying something, should be reaching out to her friends and grabbing them by the arms so she could pull them away from Matías, but for some reason she couldn’t give voice to her worry, couldn’t do anything except follow the group up the front walk to a stucco house painted a pale rosy tan color.

Inside it was very clean and neat, decorated in a simple, neutral style that had hints of the Southwest without being kitschy. The place certainly didn’t look like a house that had three twenty-something guys living in it. Caitlin had been to Roslyn’s brother Adam’s apartment once or twice before he got together with Mason and moved to Flagstaff, and it sure as hell hadn’t been anywhere near as tidy as this.

“Margaritas,” Matías announced.

Everyone headed into the kitchen, which also showed no sign of anyone actually using it. Well, except for a bowl of limes on the counter, and a bag of tortilla chips. Jorge got some salsa out of the refrigerator while Matías got to work with the blender, and Tomas wandered off into the next room. A few seconds later, some jaw-rattling hip-hop started to play, and Caitlin winced. She hated that crap.

And she knew Roslyn hated it, too, and Danica only sort of tolerated it, and yet both of them were grinning like Tomas had just put on their favorite song. What the hell was going on?

She stood off to one side as Roslyn chattered away about the house and how it must be so awesome to live in a part of the state where it was warm all the time, and the guys kept exchanging knowing grins that made the blood in Caitlin’s veins feel just about as frosty as the concoction inside the blender. But every time she took a breath and attempted to speak, the words got caught in her throat, choking her to the point where she began to cough.

“Hey, let me fix that,” Matías said, sounding a little too solicitous. He handed her a margarita, and she set her purse down on the floor so she could take it from him.

“Yeah, Cate, you okay?” Danica asked. The question seemed almost automatic, though; Caitlin couldn’t detect any real concern in her voice.

“Fine,” she managed to croak. The margarita glass sat in her hand, cold, inviting. She’d just watched him mix the drink, so there couldn’t be anything wrong with it. And she needed to drink something to get that lump out of her throat.

She lifted the margarita to her lips and swallowed, watching as Roslyn and Danica did the same. As soon as the frosty tang of it hit her stomach, though, Caitlin knew she shouldn’t have drunk it, that something was horribly wrong. Suddenly, it wasn’t cold at all, but burning, a strange, insidious heat that began to lick its way all through her, making her feel….

“That’s better,” Matías said. He nodded at Jorge and Tomas, and they moved toward Roslyn and Danica, Jorge with his arm around Danica’s waist, Tomas with Roslyn, both of them pulling the girls toward them and kissing them hard, hands roaming upward to fondle their breasts. And neither of them reacted, did anything except moan and push closer to the guys manhandling them, when Caitlin knew that even Roslyn would have kneed anyone else in the nuts for pulling something like that on such a short acquaintance.

And then Matías was coming closer to her, dark eyes glittering. “You sense something, don’t you?” he murmured. “It doesn’t matter. Soon, nothing much will matter at all.”

His mouth was on hers, lips hard and hot, and although she knew it was wrong, knew she should be pushing him away, the signals her mind was sending to her body didn’t seem to be getting there. She let him kiss her, let him lead her out of the kitchen to a room attached to the back of the house, an empty space that probably had been intended as a sun porch. There was nothing in the room now, though, except an intricate tracery in colored chalks on the cement floor, a pattern that not only looked wrong, but felt wrong, the patterns off somehow, the arrangement of colored candles around its circumference wrong as well, although she couldn’t say why.

Tomas and Jorge brought Roslyn and Danica in with them, both girls looking dreamy and flushed. Danica’s shirt was half unbuttoned, and Caitlin knew that was wrong as well, that Danica would never be standing there in front of a bunch of guys she didn’t even know with her b*a showing and her breasts about to spill out.

Matías smiled. “The blonde one first.”

Tomas nodded and pulled Roslyn forward, positioning her at the edge of the circle. Silvery metal flashed in the bright light pouring into the room, and Caitlin realized then that he’d pulled a knife from somewhere, was pressing it against her friend’s exposed forearm.

“No!” she screamed, somehow forcing the syllable past the constriction in her throat, past the strange fuzziness that seemed to have settled on her brain. Roslyn blinked at her, as if puzzled why Caitlin would have a problem with Tomas slicing her open with a knife.

“Calm down, chica,” Matías murmured, his breath hot against Caitlin’s neck. “He’s not going to kill her. We just need something from her.”

“You can’t….” She made herself gasp in a breath, hoping the extra oxygen would make her brain begin to work properly. “It’s wrong. We don’t — we don’t do that kind of magic.”

“Maybe you don’t. But we do.” He nodded, and Tomas drew the blade across Roslyn’s arm, a quick, sharp cut, barely more than inch long. Deep crimson blood dripped from the wound onto the circle chalked on the ground.

Faint tendrils of pale gray smoke began to drift upward. At the same time, Caitlin could feel the wrongness of the thing they’d drawn twisting through her, cold, hungry…strong. It was more than chalk on the ground.

It was alive.

“Roslyn!” she screamed. “Run!”

But Roslyn only looked at her with foggy blue eyes, and Danica wasn’t watching at all, had her eyes shut as Jorge kissed her neck and stroked her bare arm. She didn’t seem to have heard Caitlin’s cry, or, worse, was ignoring it.

“I don’t think they mind, chica,” Matías said, chuckling into her ear. “And you won’t, either, when your time comes.”

Help. She had to get help. From where or from whom, she didn’t know, because she was in the heart of de la Paz territory, and here were three guys from that clan engaging in the sort of magic that had been f*******n for centuries. But she knew Roslyn and Danica were lost to her for the moment, and so the only thing she could think of to do was to run.

The next part didn’t require thought, only instinct…and the strength to overcome the fog of confusion which had come with that margarita she’d sipped. But she’d only had a little. Besides, damn it — she was a McAllister.

She twisted in Matías’ arms, bringing her knee up into his groin as hard as she could. He grunted, then cursed. Sharp pain flared in her side, and she saw he’d been holding a knife that whole time, had just plunged it into her. Because the angle was off, it barely penetrated more than an inch, but oh, Goddess, it hurt.

Crying out, she brought her elbow up into his chin, connecting squarely. He cursed again, but, more importantly, he let go of her.

That was all she needed. Mentally asking Roslyn and Danica for forgiveness, Caitlin bolted from the room, then ran through the house and out the front door. Without bothering to stop and close it behind her, she pounded down the walkway and back to the sidewalk, retracing her steps, knowing she had to get back out to the thoroughfare where the restaurant was located.

Not that she was sure she could make it that far. The restaurant was blocks from where they’d turned into this residential district, but between here and there, she’d noted there were other businesses, places where people had to be working. Normal people. Ordinary people. They’d see she’d been hurt and call an ambulance. Surely she’d be safe in the hospital, wouldn’t she?

Behind her, she heard running feet, but no shouting. No, that would probably draw too much attention. All she could do was run, glad that she hadn’t worn her flip-flops and instead had on a pair of ballet-style flats.

Don’t look back, she told herself. The pain in her side was searing, but it seemed to clear her head, get rid of that horrible fuzziness. Or maybe it was just that she’d put enough distance between herself and Matías that whatever spell he’d cast — and it had to be a spell — wasn’t working as well anymore.

And there was the street, and cars whizzing back and forth. She let out a sobbing little breath, thinking she’d never been so glad to see anything in her life. Something wet was dripping on her jeans, and she glanced down and realized the blood from her wound had flowed from her side and had stained all the way to her thigh.

But she couldn’t think about that, think about how much it hurt. Now she had turned on to the sidewalk that paralleled the street, and it seemed harder and harder to keep running. She slowed to a walk, risked a look behind her. Matías stood on the corner, fists balled at his side, but he made no motion to come any closer. She guessed that he couldn’t, not with this many witnesses around. So his powers had some limits.

Just up ahead was a large building, a*****e of some kind. Her vision was becoming blurry, so she couldn’t see what its sign said. But there were cars in the parking lot, and people coming and going. And she couldn’t walk much farther. Surely someone here would help her.

She pressed her hand against her side, attempting to conceal as much as she could of the blood that stained her clothing. Limping now, she staggered past the parked cars and went into the cool, air-conditioned interior of the building. Around her, she could hear gasps as the shoppers in the store appeared to take in her condition, but she couldn’t focus on any of them. Not really. Just up ahead was a tall young man in a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked handsome and friendly, with kind dark eyes.

Summoning the last of her strength, Caitlin went to him, grasped his arm. Her hand left b****y prints on his white shirt. His eyes widened, even as he reached out to catch her.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please help me.”

The world went dark.