To Hell and Back by L.B. Gilbert

Chapter Thirteen

Rhys studied Valeria’s face, wondering if he had miscalculated. Beneath her placid surface, she was panicking. He could smell her anxiety.

“I think we would be better served by being honest with each other,” he said softly.

He didn’t have that much experience with making people at ease. Being abrasive and blunt was second nature for a warrior at the top of the clan hierarchy. But this was too important for his normal hammer-to-anvil approach.

“I will not share the nature of your talent with the rest of the clan if it makes you uncomfortable. However, it would be disingenuous for me to pretend I did not recognize the fire as my own.”

Pursing her lips, Valeria reached for the glass of sweet wine he had poured. She tossed it back as if it were a hard whiskey. “I faced a witch with fire talent once, and I used it against them. They were burned badly enough to stop attacking me. I got away that day.”

Ah.

“It’s my understanding that most fire wielders can’t generate their own flames. They need a source. A lighter is enough. They take those flames and amplify them. But because it’s not born of them, it can be used against them. My fire is a part of me. I cannot be damaged by it—its source is the same wellspring of magic that allows me to change my form so dramatically—but magic alone is not its source. There is a biological component, enough that I would be able to distinguish the taste of it from the fire produced by the other members of my clan.”

A subtle thrumming emanated from the delicate lines of Valeria’s body. It was well-hidden, but Rhys was focused on her with a hunter’s vigilance, and something more. He was honest enough with himself to admit that he desired her. There was no way he could miss her anxiety.

“I see,” she said slowly, appearing to choose her words with care. “Well, uh, I would appreciate it if you did not share the nature of my talent with anyone else.”

He frowned. “Is your kind of mimicry very rare among witches?”

“Apparently.” She sighed, tired despite the much-needed energy boost the large meal had given her. “My mother was constantly warning me to keep it secret. I was never supposed to tell anyone exactly what I could do.”

Rhys saw the wisdom of that. “It certainly works better as an offensive weapon if you aren’t prepared for it.”

“It has come in handy a few times.”

“Only a few? Is it difficult to use?”

The lush lower lip thinned slightly as if she were pulling it into her mouth, worrying it with her teeth.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said, reading in her silence the need to preserve the secrets that had kept her alive. “This territory is a safe place for you. I would never share your confidence with my men, and none of my people would dare betray you to your enemies.”

The look she gave him was frankly skeptical. “I don’t mean to be insolent, but how can you say that? No one can know what’s in the mind of another person.”

Those last words held traces of pain. They were faint. She was trying to hide them, to shield herself from the world with impenetrable mental walls. This was a woman who had been betrayed over and over.

It was startling in a way, how easily he could understand what motivated her. No one had ever accused Rhys of being sensitive or even particularly understanding.

Only slightly more surprising was this pressing need to unravel her secrets. It was a desire borne of the most primitive part of him. He would not allow her to hide anything from him.

And if she ran, he would find her.

“I am the leader here,” he said modulating his tone. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her. “And I know my people. When I say that they won’t sell you out, it’s because they do not need to. They are fulfilled. They don’t require money because we have wealth, quite a lot of it. Finding lost treasure is still a pastime, although we have learned to channel our innate acquisitiveness into updated and more conventional means of making money. Additionally, our kind is immune to most human-born magicks, so we wouldn’t be affected by most of your spells in any case.”

Rhys did not intend that last as a warning, but she seemed to take it as one.

“I wouldn’t try to enchant anyone,” she protested, her back stiffening.

“Good.” He laughed, wondering at her choice of words. “You would find yourself rebuffed, and then very, very warm. But you do not need to worry about being fricasseed out of hand. No one will harm you while you are in my care. We are a disciplined lot out of necessity.”

That earned him a tiny smile. “You must be a good leader if your people are that content.”

If only she knew. But he fought the instinct to tell her everything. Remember, she is not Gabrielle.

That was enough to keep his mouth shut on the details of how his community’s prosperity and hard-won emotional health had come about.

“Suffice it to say, we have learned from the lessons of our forebears. We don’t allow the seeds of discord and discontent to take root,” he said. “We are a martial people by nature, so we train in the tactics of battle a great deal, but we also recognize that our minds must be challenged regularly with difficult or intricate tasks. Conversely, everyone here has the right to leisure time when they want it. And although a small handful succumbs to the urge to wander the world in search of adventure, it’s never for too long. My people always come back because they know they will always be welcomed home.”

Her eyes met his before skittering away as if she found his gaze too intense. “Must be nice.”

Damn. “My words were not intended to hurt you,” he said softly, studying her averted face.

“They didn’t,” she said, bristling.

But he could feel the walls raising just a little higher. There was a whisper of desolation, like the wind in the desert. She truly is alone, and has been for some time.

Rhys let the lie pass. The silence stretched between them as he sensed her turmoil. It was there in her scent.

Her fingers rubbed around the stem of her wineglass. “My talent can be difficult to use,” she said unexpectedly. “As an offensive weapon, it can be too slow. Just because you can copy someone’s magic doesn’t mean you can wield it. Some magic is too…foreign.”

Eager, but trying not to show it, he kept his voice soft when she lapsed into silence as if she’d regretted sharing that.

“Can you shift in the presence of other shifters?” He was dying to know.

She shook her head. “No. That seems to be a step too far. But you had something else I could use.”

He leaned back, understanding. “My fire.”

Of course. It made sense. Her magic wouldn’t have been compatible with shifting. That was too profound a transformation. It shuffled every system of one’s body—skeletal, muscular, endocrine…The list went on and on. The ability to change was hardwired into a shifter’s body. It began with DNA and ended with scales or fur.

But his fire-breathing ability was preternatural, something he could do in either form. The fuel was chemical, but the flames were kindled by magic. Else he couldn’t have ignited them underwater.

“So, if a shark-shifter could freeze the water around him, that would be something your talent could copy?”

Her expression was priceless. Wide-eyed, she clutched the edge of the table. “There are shark shifters?”

Grimacing, he shrugged. “They’re what Thomas calls really big jerks.”

Valeria snatched up her glass, taking a big swig. “I’m never going swimming again.”

This time, he allowed her to see his amusement. There was a corresponding hint of color in those strikingly carved cheekbones. His insides tightened pleasurably. “How close do you need to be to copy someone’s magic?”

She sighed, something in her posture speaking to resignation. “Depends on how strong they are.”

Ah, yes. The mirror would reflect brighter fires more clearly. “And once the person moves out of range, it fades in relation to that strength?”

Her brow wrinkled.

“Maybe?” She shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve done tests. A lot of the time, I try to avoid picking up someone else’s magic. It can be unwieldy. Especially if it’s just some random passerby. In that case, I wouldn’t want to use their brand of magic. That would just call attention to myself, and I have more than enough problems staying out of people’s crosshairs.”

Valeria rested against the back of her chair as if trying not to slump.

That was when he became certain. This girl wasn’t a black witch. Whatever darkness she had, why his instincts kept going off—was a reflection of what she’d copied.

But though he and his people avoided witches as a rule, they knew one thing and it was universal—no black witch would ever think she had enough magic. The rites they practiced consumed it, eating it up, so they were constantly hunting for new sources.

Another question came to mind. What if the people pursuing her did have some inkling of Valeria’s power? It could be she wasn’t a target because she had so much magic. What if they thought they could exploit her ability to reflect theirs?

Did they think they could scoop off the extra magic the way cream was skimmed off milk?

“You’ll need more clothing,” he said, changing the subject to the practical and mundane after she stayed quiet for too long. “Do you have a cache of belongings hidden somewhere? Would you like me to send someone to get it?”

She shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ve had to learn to travel light, get clothes that wear well and can be easily washed in the sink. Everything I own is in my backpack.”

He’d peeked into her small bag when she’d been unconscious. There had been two pairs of pants and three shirts, some underclothes, and a battered Ziplock bag full of toiletries. Other than that, there had been a small sheath of papers bundled together, written by at least two different hands.

No books, no jewels, and no gold. No jewelry of any type. Just some beautifully detailed sketches of flowers and birds, including a striking half-finished one of a hummingbird in flight.

The witch was a talented artist.

“I’m afraid your apparel isn’t suitable for the area. But don’t worry. The clan owns many companies, including a few clothing manufacturers. I’ve already taken the liberty of filling the closet in your room. I take it you didn’t look inside?” he asked, gesturing to her clothes, which were her own.

“No, I didn’t.” Her face expressed discomfort. “But you didn’t have to do that. I can make do with what I have.”

He acknowledged that, but he couldn’t let it go. “As I said I am the leader of this community. I am responsible for the well-being and care of everyone in my territory. That includes you for the duration of your stay. In any case, none of your clothing is thick enough. You need heavier gear up here. The terrain is rough, and the weather can be brutal, with sleeting rain even in spring.”

She pursed her lips, but she didn’t object.

“Sanaa chose most of your things,” he lied.

Saana had given him the sizes, but it had been Rhys who had selected the colors and styles of the clothes in her room. He hadn’t asked himself why he wouldn’t let anyone else select what Valeria would wear.

“I can pay you back for the clothes,” she said, fiddling with her napkin. “That’s what I was trying to say earlier. I have waitressed, been a cleaning woman, worked as a hairdresser, and was even a nurse’s assistant. I’m strong for someone my size, and I learn quickly. I can earn my keep.”

Ah. “I understand some people can’t stand being idle. In this, you are not unlike many of my people, but even we know when to rest and conserve our strength.”

He tried to convey his reassurance with his hands, but the movement seemed to make her nervous, so he dropped them back to the table.

“Once you’ve recovered to full strength, we can discuss this topic again. In the meantime, take the time to recuperate fully. You have the run of the entire house and the grounds immediately around it. I’m sure Sanaa would welcome a visit soon. She’s not as mobile at the moment, so going to her would be necessary. Beyond that, you should ask for permission or guidance. Some places are dangerous—like the training fields and certain unstable hillsides farther out.”

She nodded gamely, but he could sense her exhaustion.

He rose. “You are fatiguing.” He offered his hand. “Perhaps it is time to retire. You can get the full tour of the house and its amenities tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” She stood, but she didn’t take his hand. Instead, she walked at his side to the stairs. “I…I am in your debt.”

Satisfaction coursed through his veins at the acknowledgment. The dragon in him was greedy, but the man in him knew each concession this woman chose to make was a victory.

“Yes, but, in time, you may find, despite appearances, that isn’t always a bad place to be.”