Blood Witch_ Book Three - Cate Tiernan [61]
Hunter spoke again, waving his arm, and it fluttered through the air slowly. His voice was like the deep growl of an animal. They came softly together—as if their movements were choreographed—and Hunter’s fist connected with Cal’s stomach. Cal doubled over. I winced, but I was trapped in a nightmare, powerless to stop the fight. I clutched the athame to my chest. There was a small knot of heat at my throat. I touched the warm silver of the pentacle hanging there. But I couldn’t move toward them.
Cal straightened. Hunter swung again at him but missed. Then Cal kicked the back of Hunter’s knee, and Hunter crumpled to the ground, the blood on his face smearing the snow. Memories flashed through my mind as Hunter staggered to his feet and threw himself on Cal . . . Hunter telling me Cal was Woodbane, Hunter in the dark outside my house, Hunter being so snide and hateful.
I remembered Cal kissing me, touching me, showing me magick. Showing me how to ground myself at circles, giving me presents. I thought of Bree yelling at me in her car by the side of the road, so long ago. Sky and Hunter together. The images made me unbearably weary. All I wanted to do was lie down in the snow and fall asleep. I sank to my knees, feeling a smile form on my lips. Sleep, I thought. There must have been magick at work, but it didn’t seem to matter.
In front of me Cal and Hunter rolled over and over, toward the river. “Morgan.”
My name came to me softly, on a snowflake, and I looked up. For just an instant I met Cal’s eyes. They stared pleadingly at me. Then I saw that Hunter was holding Cal down, his knee on Cal’s chest. He had a length of silver chain and was binding Cal’s hands with it while Cal writhed in pain.
“Morgan.”
I received a sharp flash of his pain. I gasped and grabbed my chest, falling forward onto the snow. As I blinked rapidly, my head suddenly seemed clearer.
“He’s killing me. Help me. Morgan!”
I couldn’t hear the words, but I felt them inside my head, and I pushed myself to my feet with one hand.
“You’re through,” Hunter was gasping angrily, pulling the silver chain. “I’ve got you.”
“Morgan!” Cal’s shout ripped through the snowy night and shattered my calm. I had to move, to fight. I loved Cal, had always loved him. I struggled to my feet as if I had been asleep for a long, long time. I had no plan; I was no match for Hunter, but suddenly I remembered I was still clutching the athame, my birthday athame. Without thinking, I hurled it at Hunter as hard as I could. I watched as it sailed through the air in a gleaming arc.
It struck Hunter’s neck, quivering there for a second before falling. Hunter cried out and clapped his hand to the wound. Blood began to spout from the open flesh, blooming red like a poppy. I couldn’t believe what I had done.
In that second Cal drew up his knees and kicked Hunter as hard as he could. With a cry of surprise Hunter staggered back, off balance, still clutching his wound . . . and then I was screaming, “No! No! No!” as he toppled clumsily and disappeared over the edge of the cliff.
I stared at the emptiness, dumbstruck.
“Morgan, help!” Cal cried, startling me. “Get this off! It’s burning me! Get it off!”
Numb, I hurried to Cal and pulled at the silver chain looped around his wrists. I felt nothing but a mild tingle when I touched it—but I saw raw, red blistering welts on Cal’s skin where it had touched him. Once it was off, I threw down the chain and scrambled to the edge of the cliff. If I saw Hunter’s body at the bottom, on the rocks, I knew I would throw up, but I forced myself to look, already thinking about calling 911, about trying to climb down there, wondering if I remembered CPR from my babysitting course.
But I saw nothing. Nothing but a jumble of rocks and the gray, turbulent water.
Cal staggered up beside me. I met his eyes. He looked horrified, pale and hollow and weak. “Goddess, he’s already gone,” Cal murmured. “He must have hit the water, and the current