Chapter 13

13

“Graeme—wake up, speak to me!”—Kendra felt the air change around her, icing the wind and frosting the wet rocks jabbing her knees. A worse cold swept in from the sea, tingeing the cove with the same green-black shimmer she’d seen edging the high bluff. Leaning closer to Graeme, she smoothed back his hair, trying hard not to wince when his blood reddened her fingers.

She also ignored the eerie haze, not wanting to acknowledge that she recognized it as the glaze of death, which always appeared to taint atmosphere darkened by violent passings.

Instead she unbuttoned Graeme’s shirt and slipped her hand beneath his bulky fisherman’s sweater. “Oh, please…”

Begging didn’t help.

His chest didn’t rise and fall.

Kendra closed her eyes and tried not to think anything negative. She knew that painting devils on the wall was the best way to summon them. And Graeme’s skin was vitally warm, the dusting of hair across his chest too alluring for him to be anything but strong and alive. Even so, her mind tugged her in unwanted directions, causing her worries to rise and making it almost impossible to keep calm.

He couldn’t be dead.

Summoning all her composure, she took a deep breath and rested her hand against his cheek, willing him to draw on her life force and waken, whole and unharmed. But the day only turned darker, the chill air so unnaturally frigid she imagined frost forming on the rock-strewn beach and icy mist filling the cove.

And still Graeme didn’t move.

She felt as if she’d been kicked in the gut.

It was a battering that would’ve been much worse if her protective shields weren’t in place. Even so, sharp, edgy dread slipped through to creep beneath her skin as the increasing cold pressed against her defenses. Her chest tightened, making each breath a struggle.

Graeme’s skin was turning pale, his lips gone blue. The gash at his temple gleamed red, the stain on the beach stones almost garish now.

“I don’t believe this is happening.” She smoothed back his hair, her mind rushing to recall everything she knew about emergency procedures and basic CPR. Worry and guilt made it hard to remember. If she’d not come here, he’d be with his dog at the Keel, or they’d be walking the shore, the high moors. Perhaps they’d even be at Balmedie, up on the dunes again.

But Jock was alone at the cottage, waiting for a master who’d never return.

And Graeme…

“Breathe, just breathe,” she begged and interlaced her fingers and braced her hands against his chest, pumping hard and fast. “Come on…Please be okay! She tipped back his head, lifting his chin and pinching his nose as she leaned down to cover his mouth with hers and blow air into his lungs.

If he knew, he gave no sign.

Her stomach lurched and her heart raced as she reared up, once more pushing on his chest. Intended or not, this was her fault. The knowledge twisted inside her, bitter and agonizing. If she could, she’d reverse time or stop the world’s turning. Anything she could to undo this.

But even though certain members of her family enjoyed—or carried the burden of?—a slew of super- and semi-supernatural powers, halting time wasn’t one of them. Nor could they reverse death.

Even the Cosmos looked on benignly as mortals met their fates.

She took a deep breath, fighting her chills and the hot fear in her throat. Bending forward, she blew again into his mouth, willing him to respond.

As if from a great distance, she heard the splashing and gurgling of the seals as they clambered out of the surf, back onto the little beach. Bart still barked from the flat rock beneath the broken gate arch, his clamor echoing around the high-walled cove.

But the icy wind was louder now, shrieking as if in glee to have felled Graeme.

It was an unholy wind, she knew. The fine hairs lifting on her nape told her that. She also sensed a dark energy, ravenous for a vulnerable soul.

The carrion of the Underworld, circling in anticipation.

“No-o-o, you can’t have him.” She pumped Graeme’s chest harder, not quite sure whom from such dark realms she was addressing, but adamant all the same.

It didn’t matter anyway.

She had other concerns. Graeme’s life, for one. She didn’t need to worry for herself. As long as her own time wasn’t at hand, her shields would protect her. But the grasping energy from such bottom-feeders and other fiends could make her feel sick.

And she did.

Her mouth was dry, her insides roiled, and dizziness threatened, already blurring the outer edges of her vision. Everything around her swam and shifted as she worked on Graeme. She didn’t need to feel bad now. Yet she felt worse than the one and only time a long-ago boyfriend had pulled her unwillingly onto a death-defying roller coaster at the Pennsylvania State Fair.

She pushed her hair back off her face, ignoring the queasiness.

Her discomfort wasn’t important.

The need for Graeme to be okay dimmed everything else.

“Please…” She inhaled deeply again, filling her lungs with the cold salt air, half afraid she was about to faint. She might talk to dead people, but she didn’t do well with blood. Especially when the red stuff was spilling out of someone she was falling in love with.

No, someone she had fallen in love with.

Heat swept her, but not the good kind. And a small, annoying voice somewhere deep inside her chided that if she’d kept walking at Balmedie, never stopping to stare at Graeme on the dunes or to speak to him beside the abandoned WWII bunkers there, this wouldn’t have happened. At the very least, she should’ve had the nerve to drive her own rental car down Pennard’s Cliff Road, rather than sitting behind the wheel, too frozen by dread to take her foot off the brake pedal. If she’d been bolder, more daring…

Her throat began to close but she worked harder over Graeme, ignoring the heat stinging her eyes, blurring her vision.

“Damn.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. “I can’t bear it…” She pressed her fist against her mouth, not surprised to find that her hand trembled violently.

She didn’t even taste the blood on her fingers.

She did tilt back her head, peering up at the sky. The clouds were thickening, dulling the brightness of the low Scottish sun. And the cold air smelled of coming rain, the sea and brine, the seaweedy musk of seals, and so much wet stone. Even so, her eyes burned as if she’d been torched by flames. She took a long breath, blinking against the searing heat. Wishing she could turn back the clock and decline this ill-fated excursion.

But it was too late.

She’d crossed a perilous boundary and—she knew—there was no going back. Things had happened, her emotions were involved, and this was one of those times when a mere moment changed life forever.

For now, she had to do something.

Her cell phone was in her bag on the boat. She had Iain’s number at the Laughing Gull. He could send help. She didn’t expect they would arrive in time, but it seemed the only thing she could try. She could never get Graeme over and around the rocks, then up into the Sea Wyfe on her own. Even if she managed that, she doubted she could get the boat out of the cove and along the rough waters of the coast, back to Pennard and the little stone harbor she wished they’d never left.

She blew out a breath, feeling hollow, her arms and legs rubbery. Her pulse pounded in her ears, the roar worsening her light-headedness. She wasn’t sure she could stand, much less scramble the half length of the beach to the boat, dodging rocks and seals to get there.

Could she leave Graeme alone that long?

She feared she had to.

And that was when she felt the air shift again. Before she could push to her feet, the deep chill left the wind and its terrible shrieking lessened, dwindling to an ordinary-sounding whistle.

“Oh, no…” Her heart sank.

She knew what that meant.

Whatever energy had rushed into the cove had claimed its prize and was leaving, Graeme’s soul in its greedy clutches. A glance at the cliffs proved her right. The awful, lightly sulfuric-smelling tinge of green-black haze was also dissipating. The faint glow faded into the brisk morning air until nothing remained to prove it’d been there.

She shuddered and started shrugging out of her jacket, thinking to bundle its bulk beneath Graeme’s head before she dashed to the boat for her phone.

“Now isn’t the time to get comfortable, sweet.” Graeme’s hand closed around her wrist, startling her so badly, she nearly choked on her gasp. “You’re well enough, I trust?”

He bounded to his feet, pulling her up with him. “No hurt bones or bruises? I didn’t push you too hard?”

“I…” Kendra could only stare at him, her eyes rounding. She shook her head, relief and amazement sluicing her. “You weren’t breathing. I checked, did CPR?—”

“So you did, and I thank you.” He smoothed back her hair, his fingers warm and vital against her brow. His eyes were clear, without a trace of pain. “I was only stunned, lass.” He looked at her, a slight curve at the corner of his mouth. “I’m fine, as you can see.”

Stepping back, he held out his arms and turned in a slow circle. “You’re the one looking shaken.”

“Of course I am.” Kendra eyed him up and down, seeing no sign that a rock had just conked him on the head, knocking him flat, taking his breath…

She’d been so sure he was going to die.

The death glaze she’d seen on the cliff had been real. She’d recognized it from her work.

She also knew it from home, having first seen it as a child only moments before her grandfather had started lopping tree branches at his Pennsylvania farm. He’d fallen from the ladder, breaking his neck. The incident terrified her. As her first brush with the supernatural, it’d also introduced her to her special skills.

There had been something on the bluff.

Unless she’d erred, the Chase legacy tripping her up as it did now and then.

Chase women often had unusual gifts, inherited from a distant ancestor none of them could trace. They used their talents for the greater good whenever possible. At times, things didn’t work out as they should, despite their best intentions.

And sometimes, they simply made mistakes.

Graeme wasn’t bleeding, after all. Nor was there any blood on her. She frowned, her pulse starting to quicken again. Had she imagined everything?

Was this a new trick? One she hadn’t yet encountered?

She took a few steps away from Graeme, undeniably shaken. “I saw the rock hit you. It struck you on the head, knocking you down just before it crashed into the water.” She spoke in a rush. “There was a gash on your forehead—” Her voice faltered, chills sweeping her. “It was bad, so much blood on your face, all over the stones—” She broke off again, went back to him. “Now there’s nothing. I don’t understand…”

“It happened fast.” He took her hands, gripping tight, rubbing her wrists with his thumbs. “And there is something.” He shook back his hair, revealing a bluish mark on his temple, a slight swelling. “The rock clipped me. But it’s only a graze. Ne’er you worry. I was stunned, no more. The breath knocked out of me, that’s all.”

“But…” Kendra frowned, her gaze going to where he’d lain so still.

There wasn’t a drop of red on the stones.

“I was sure you were going to die.” She couldn’t wrap her mind around what she’d just seen—or hadn’t.

“You can see I’m still here.” He released her hands, the truth of his words undeniable. “MacGraths cannae be killed so easily, sweet. It would take more than an errant rock to have done with me.” He took her by the shoulders, looking down at her in a way that made her want to slide her arms around his back and just cling to him.

She was sure she’d seen blood. She knew she hadn’t felt a pulse. Yet he had no reason to lie to her. Did he have the wind knocked out of him, and she’d panicked? Thinking the worst? She’d certainly been worried enough to see things her mind expected.

Shock did that to people.

Still…

“Are you sure you’re okay?” She resisted the urge to lean her head against his chest and check the strength of his heartbeat.

She did narrow her eyes, studying him carefully. “I’ve never seen anyone recover so swiftly.” She reached to smooth back his hair, her fingers grazing lightly over his bruised temple. “If you had been seriously hurt”—she lowered her hand, still frowning—“medics could never have reached us in time. I shudder to think?—”

“You needn’t.” He touched his fingers to her lips. “All is well,” he assured, one corner of his mouth lifting in the tiniest smile. “Scots have a high tolerance of pain. That’s been so for centuries and is no less true today.”

Kendra wasn’t so sure. But she couldn’t argue his point. He had leapt to his feet, looking no worse for wear. A few eye blinks and a dusting of his jeans, and he’d been good as new, as if nothing had happened.

So she’d summoned a smile, sure she’d overreacted.

“Does that happen often here?” It was the only thing she could think to say. “Big rocks flying off the cliffs, just like that?”

“Nae, it doesn’t.” He glanced up at the bluff’s edge, then back at her. His expression darkened, his tone changing. “Not like that, anyway.”

Kendra’s gut clenched. “You don’t think someone pushed the rock, do you?”

“I do, aye.” He spoke bluntly. “That’s another reason I’m so glad you’re okay.” He slid his fingers into her hair, gliding them through the strands. “I’m going to climb up there and have a look around. And I think you should come with me. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Kendra swallowed. “I don’t know…” Her legs still felt like jelly and her heart hadn’t stopped racing. “I’m usually a good climber. And I’m not afraid of heights. Any other time, I’d love?—”

“You cannae stay here on your own.” He looked to where Bart stared back at them from the bottom of the broken arch. The bull seal was quiet now, his dark, liquid eyes fixed right on them. “There are steps cut into the cliff. They’re ancient and a bit narrow and slippery, but I’ll not let you fall. I promise.”

“Well…” Kendra bit her lip. She understood his need to get up there. Half of her burned to see the ruins, but the other half worried about what they’d find once they reached the cliff top.

Obviously, whatever trickster in her family’s past was responsible for the Chase legacy’s occasional gaffes had pulled a big one today.

The death glaze hadn’t been a harbinger of doom.

There were other reasons for good air to go bad, turning green-black as the atmosphere about the bluff and in the cove had done.

Terrible things such as the otherworldly unmentionables her youngest sister, Melanie, refused to name or describe whenever someone pressed her about what she stumbled on each time she discovered a portal.

Kendra glanced at the water, Melanie’s face rising in her mind. Melanie was still at college and—so far—more horrified than grateful for the gift she’d inherited as part of the Chase legacy. Unlike Kendra and their middle sister, Carolyn, who was clairaudient, Melanie’s talents were broader and far more interesting because she possessed a penchant for happening on portals.

If an entry to centuries past was anywhere around her, Melanie would stumble into it, each time terrified she wouldn’t find her way out again. Sometimes such portals opened into places other than the innocent past. When that happened, Melanie was given glimpses of dark, mysterious worlds she never spoke of to anyone, except to say she hoped the creatures she saw there never followed her back into the real world, as much as any of the Chase sisters could consider their day-to-day surroundings ordinary.

So much more existed, after all.

Most people just didn’t know what lurked beneath the surface, or around corners they couldn’t see. Kendra and her sisters—and one or two aunts and distant cousins—were very much aware.

Lesser entities weren’t a fable.

If something like that had caused the weird greenish-black haze she’d seen and if that something still lurked on the bluff, skulking about the tumbled walls of Castle Grath…

Kendra wrapped her arms around herself, not wanting to follow such a thought.

Graeme had no idea.

He couldn’t guess what he might be running into up there.

And he had it all wrong. If that was the way of it, she wasn’t the one needing protection. Her shields were still up and humming. It was Graeme who shouldn’t go climbing up a cliff stair on his own and then haplessly striding into something horrible.

She couldn’t let him face such danger alone.

She started to say so, worded tactfully, of course, when a motion to her right startled her. Wary, she glanced toward the water’s edge.

A whirl of bluish mist spun there, the outline of a huge, burly man at the vortex’s center letting her know that, Ordo, her third spirit guide, was about to pay her a call.

And as so often, the once-famed Viking trader had chosen a bad time to appear. Having enjoyed life as a wildly popular man, Ordo still believed no visit was inopportune. Gregarious and bold, he was of a mind that he’d be greeted gladly wherever and whenever he chose to go.

Kendra frowned, shot a glance at Graeme, who didn’t seem aware of Ordo’s arrival.

At the water’s edge, the whirling mist cleared and the big Viking stepped from his vortex, his mail and Viking war ax shining like the sun. His smile was just as bright, and his blue eyes twinkled. “You needn’t fear scaling the cliff, girl.” He threw a look at the half arch, the worn steps cut into the rock there. “I’ll be behind you every step,” he vowed, his chest swelling on the words.

A promise she heard in her mind, clear as if his booming voice was as real as Graeme’s or her own.

“I’ve followed worse tracks than that in my day, mind.” His bearded chin jutted, pride rippling the air around him. “You can trust me to see you safely to the top.”

I know. Kendra let out a sigh, aware Ordo would hear the silent words it carried. He clearly thought she was afraid to climb the bluff. Or, as she knew him, he simply wanted an opportunity to feel needed.

Ordo enjoyed playing hero.

It would crimp his ego to know she wasn’t worried about the climb. How could she be, with Graeme guiding her every step of the way? She trusted him implicitly.

But Ordo was a born gallant. He’d worn the role well in his earth life and had trouble shaking it off now. And she didn’t have the heart to let him guess that, quite often, his help wasn’t needed.

It was appreciated.

So she inclined her head infinitesimally, sending him her heartfelt thanks.

She knew better than to ask him about the green-black haze and its possible origins. Ordo wouldn’t have seen it, choosing to spend his spirit-guiding afterlife in the same positive mind-set as he’d lived with his earthly days.

Negativity didn’t exist for the Viking.

And Kendra loved him for it, his bluster and good heart often bringing much-needed levity into her work and her private life.

You’re a fine man, Ordo. She smiled when he nodded acknowledgment of the praise.

“Just let him think it’s him helping you.” He flicked a glance at Graeme. “A man likes to feel needed,” he boomed, stepping back into his vortex.

And then he was gone, though Kendra knew he’d keep his word and follow her up the cliff stair. An act of gallantry that meant she now had to climb the bluff whether she wished to or not. Refusing Ordo’s well-meant assistance would only line the spirit guide’s brow with furrows. She much preferred his smiles. She loved Graeme’s, too.

He was giving her one now, a soft smile that turned her into mush. “You’re not afraid to climb the steps with me, are you?” He leaned in, dropped a light kiss on her brow. “I’d ne’er suggest you go with me if there was any danger of you falling.”

“I’m not worried.” She wasn’t. “I know you won’t let me slip.”

At the crumbling arch, Bart barked and flapped one flipper against his weedy rock, apparently agreeing. His friends and cousins, once again crowding the crescent-shaped strand, joined in.

Graeme ignored them all, his gaze steady on hers. “I’ve ne’er taken anyone up there.” He took her face in his hands, something in his tone making her heart thump hard against her chest. “I wouldn’t ask you if I weren’t sure you’re safer with me.”

“I know.” She did.

But she also felt a stab of frustration. His last words weren’t what she’d expected him to say. She’d thought he’d tell her that every other woman he’d ever known hadn’t meant enough to him to merit a visit to Grath. That only she had earned that honor.

When he’d caught her face, looking down at her so earnestly, she’d thought he was about to kiss her. Not a quick, barely there peck on her brow like he’d just given her, but long, deep kisses. The kind that would’ve erased the shock they’d just been through—such things were known to bring people closer, after all.

Not so with Graeme, sadly.

He’d shown her again that she was just a tourist to him.

Someone he’d taken under his wing and felt obliged to look after, thanks to circumstance.

Too bad she felt differently.

She wasn’t a tourist in need.

She was head over heels in love.