Otherworld Challenger Page 18

  When they got to the beach, there was a serviceable dinghy waiting for them on the sand. Jethro tugged off his boots and rolled up his jeans before pulling the dinghy into the water. Vashti and Aydan clambered into the bobbing craft and Jethro joined them, starting the motor and sending the dinghy skimming across the waves toward the boat named after the woman who had given birth to the legendary king of the Britons.

  When they reached Igraine, Jethro tied the dinghy up and sprang aboard, leaning down to assist Vashti. For an instant he held her close and she was grateful for his strength and warmth.

  “Okay?” His dark eyes searched her face.

  Before she could answer they were interrupted by a bright voice. “What kept you?”

  Aydan, in the act of stepping from the dinghy to the boat was so surprised he almost lost his balance and toppled overboard. “Lisbet?”

  “Were you expecting someone else?” She was standing on the deck, the weak sunlight turning her pale hair silver. Her coal-black eyes were alight with secrets.

  Jethro frowned. “How did you get here?”

  Lisbet’s laughter was musical. “I wanted to surprise you. Now, are you all going to stand there like openmouthed statues or are we going to Avalon?”

  * * *

  No matter how sleek and swift Igraine might be, her living quarters were cramped with four people on board and Vashti soon found her nerves frayed by proximity to Lisbet. The other woman seemed to be in determinedly high spirits, a situation that was directly contrary to her usual mood.

  There was only one cabin, containing a large double bed, and Jethro insisted the two women should share this. He and Aydan could sleep on the cushioned bench seats that ran on either side of the comfortable saloon. Vashti greeted the suggestion with silent horror. Share a room—and a bed—with Lisbet? Iago’s leering propositions were beginning to sound preferable.

  She went on deck and came to stand beside Jethro as he expertly skimmed the dainty boat across the open seas. “I suppose you have a dozen luxury yachts moored at various locations throughout the mortal realm?” Her teasing reference to his wealth reminded her of their time together on de Loix Island. It seemed so long ago. She experienced a sudden, fierce longing to be back in that beautiful, lonely setting, just the two of them, shut away from the rest of either world.

  He smiled down at her and her heart flipped over with love. “Funnily enough, I don’t. But Igraine here is such a pleasure to manage, I might have to reconsider. Since her engines are supercharged by Cal’s magic, I might be disappointed by any boat I come across in the mortal realm.”

  Her eyes scanned the vast expanse of empty ocean. “How long will it take us to reach Avalon?”

  “By rights it should be weeks. At this rate, I reckon we’ll be there in a couple of days.”

  “When Tanzi and Lorcan undertook this journey to get to Valhalla, they had to pass through Prince Tibor’s territory.” Vashti raised worried eyes to his face. “That would be dangerous for you.”

  Jethro grinned. “Let’s not mince our words. That would be certain death for me. Tibor would love to get his hands on me—or rather his teeth into me—on his own land.”

  His ability to talk about what Tibor would like to do to him with such cheerfulness did nothing for Vashti’s mood. “Can we avoid the Vampire Archipelago?”

  “It’s done. Until Tanzi and Lorcan made the journey, no one knew what the route looked like. It was all supposition and legend. But Lorcan was able to fill in the blanks on the ancient maps. Cal has plotted a route that takes us wide of any potential conflict areas. We won’t encounter another soul, alive or dead, until we reach the Isles of the Aesir where Avalon is situated.” Letting go of the wheel with one hand, he drew her to him, holding her close against his side. How was it her whole “no physical contact thing” didn’t apply to Jethro? Oh, that’ll be because I’m madly, hopelessly, in love with him. Vashti snuggled close, rubbing her cheek against the hard muscles of his chest, taking comfort from his warmth. “Stop being such a worrywart.”

  She looked up at him with dawning incredulity. “Because there is nothing to worry about? Is that what you are trying to tell me? We are not heading for the most dangerous island in Otherworld? There is no mad trickster and his evil sorceress grandmother waiting for us? You didn’t nearly get your soul ripped from your body by the Sluagh a few days ago? They are not responsible for killing your parents? Iago didn’t almost kill you in a fireball while you were at your weakest?”

  He laughed, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “When you put it like that...”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Jethro de Loix, you are the most infuriating man I have ever met. To think I once believed it was all about money with you! You just love the danger, don’t you? You’d go and stick your head in a lion’s mouth if there was one available. I’m surprised you haven’t decided to sail into vampire waters and thumb your nose at Tibor just for the fun of it.”

  “Vashti, what the hell is this all about?” He was regarding her in astonishment. “Why are you so angry with me all of a sudden?”

  “Because I...” She was so wound up, she’d have said it. If Lisbet hadn’t appeared on the deck at that precise moment, she’d have blurted out, “Because I love you, you big, brave idiot.” She was glad of Lisbet’s appearance, for once. Vashti didn’t want to see the bemused light in Jethro’s eyes change to one of pity. She didn’t want to see how fast his passion for her could fade and become excuses. Jethro didn’t do love. She was fairly sure that also meant he didn’t want love from her. She’d gotten that message. She could have as much of that amazing body as she wanted. As long as she never asked for anything more. Could she live with that?

  As Lisbet determinedly drew Jethro’s attention to a barely discernible point on the horizon, Vashti moved away from his side.

  She had told Cal the truth when she’d said she was here because Jethro needed her. On one level he recognized and was grateful for that. It was a physical level. She healed him. On another level, they had a sexual connection like nothing he had experienced before. She knew without him having to tell her. He could never have experienced what they shared with anyone else. It wasn’t vanity that told her that. It was a fact. Just thinking about it sent a jolt of pure, molten heat searing through her. It was the reason she would never be jealous of Lisbet or any of the other women who looked at him with such blatant longing. Gratitude didn’t come into that need. It was raw longing. There was another level. One Vashti understood but Jethro remained unaware of. Would Jethro ever realize his need for Vashti went deeper than that intense physical craving? Will we live long enough to find out? This was not the time for chasing answers. The time to deal with questions about the future would be when they knew if there was a future.

  Vashti looked up, smoothing away the frown from between her brows. Jethro was still suffering the barrage of Lisbet’s discourse. He caught Vashti’s gaze and rolled his eyes at her. She smiled sweetly in return. It was strange how Lisbet seemed to have quickly overcome her awe of Jethro. But Lisbet was strange.

  “Help me.” He mouthed the words silently over Lisbet’s head.

  In reply, she went down into the saloon, leaving him staring after her in silent frustration. Sometime later, Jethro appeared, filling the small space with his large frame. Hauling her up from the bench seat, he backed Vashti up against the paneled bulkhead.

  “What the fuck do you mean by leaving me alone to listen to that drivel for another half an hour?” His voice was low as he ground the words into her ear. “I was so bored, I had to shout for Aydan to come and take the wheel.”

  “I thought you liked living dangerously. Lisbet is the conversational equivalent of sticking your head in a lion’s mouth.”

  “I am going to enjoy making you pay for that, Princess.” His thigh was pressed up hard between her legs, his hand snaking unde
r her sweater, already moving the cup of her bra aside.

  “How?” She was panting as his finger and thumb found her nipple and tweaked it hard.

  “You’ll find out.” His breathing was ragged. “The hard way.” He caught hold of her hand, moving it down so she could feel his erection straining at the cloth of his jeans.

  “You decided I should share the cabin with Lisbet, remember?”

  Vashti thought she had never heard anyone curse so long or so fluently as Jethro did then. “I owe you.”

  She locked her eyes on his, making sure he felt the erotic shudder rippling through her. “When the time is right, I’ll remind you of it.”

  With a groan that reverberated around the small saloon, Jethro flung away from her, kicking the table on his way up onto the deck. With shaking hands, Vashti fixed her clothing and waited for her breathing to return to something approaching normality before following him.

  * * *

  Sleeping on Igraine’s deck for the last two nights had not been conducive to either Vashti’s physical well-being or her mood. Lisbet, on the other hand, seemed to grow more cheerful by the minute.

  “The cabin is really comfortable,” she told Vashti, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “I can’t understand why you don’t want to sleep in there.”

  “I get seasick.” Vashti stuck to the excuse she’d used on the first day. “It’s not as bad if I’m in the open air.”

  Lisbet shrugged and went to sit next to Jethro, helping herself to a piece of toast from his plate. Her glaring crush on him had increased as the journey progressed. Vashti didn’t like Lisbet. She wouldn’t have liked her even if the other woman didn’t blatantly throw herself at Jethro. Perhaps he gave off some sort of vibe that he was still available, though he made no secret of the fact he was with Vashti. With me, but not with me. That said it all, but it wasn’t the point.

  What annoyed Vashti most about Lisbet was that she was supposed to be Aydan’s girlfriend. Sweet, kind, honest Aydan, who looked on with hurt in his pale green eyes as his girlfriend flirted and cooed at Jethro. Vashti wanted to tell him to fight for her. Actually, she wanted to tell him to dump Lisbet and find someone worth having. She had never met such a mismatched couple. Hadn’t Tanzi been surprised they were together? She remembered her sister saying Lisbet had been infatuated with Lorcan. What was it with this woman? Should she tell her to leave Jethro alone? With everything else going on, it felt wrong to do so. As if she was allowing her personal dislike of Lisbet to intrude on the more momentous events surrounding the reason for this journey.

  She waited until Aydan and Lisbet had gone up on deck and then fixed Jethro with a speculative look. “Necromancer groupies. Is that a thing?”

  He choked slightly on his coffee. “Pardon?”

  “You heard me. Are there women who follow necromancers around hoping to have sex with them?”

  “Where is this going?”

  “Tanzi said Lisbet had a thing for Lorcan when they were in Barcelona. She definitely has a thing for you.”

  “Jealous, Vashti?”

  She kept her voice light. “You can think that if you want. I happen to like Aydan and I don’t enjoy seeing him humiliated.”

  A faint flush tinged Jethro’s high cheekbones. “I haven’t encouraged her.”

  “I didn’t say you had.”

  He was silent for a few minutes. “If she had a thing about necromancers, she’d have moved heaven and earth to meet Cal and Stella—the two greatest living necromancers. But she didn’t come to the palace with us.”

  “True.” Vashti smiled at him. “It must be your personal magnetism, after all.”

  “Thank God for that. The idea there might be women out there who want me to drag them off and do unspeakable things to them over a tombstone doesn’t bear thinking about.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Vashti teased him with her eyes. “I quite like the idea of doing unspeakable things with you. Tombstone optional.”

  They were still laughing when Lisbet appeared. Her eyes narrowed as she took in their shared hilarity. “What’s funny?”

  “We’ve discovered Vashti here is a necromancer groupie.” Jethro stood, holding his hand out to Vashti. “I’m going to take the wheel from Aydan. Come and keep me company.”

  “Just so we’re clear, I’m a picky groupie.” Vashti slid her hand into his. “I won’t follow any necromancer.”

  “I should think not.” Jethro’s eyes were still alight with laughter as he gazed down at her. “You’re not the only one who can get jealous.”

  She trailed behind him onto the deck, her heart pounding. Did he know what he’d just said? Or was he still teasing? If he could feel jealousy, that meant he must care about her. Stop it. Stop right there. She kept lecturing herself but it didn’t work. As she reached the deck, her grin was as wide as the gates of Valhalla itself.

  Her euphoria lasted about as long as it took her to follow the direction of Aydan’s shaking finger. The island he pointed to was large enough to fill the horizon. Its outline had three distinct peaks, like cathedral spires, with the tallest in the center. The hills wore an encircling skirt of mist, giving the effect the island was floating just above the water.

  “Avalon.” Aydan’s voice trembled more than his finger as he infused the single word with a mixture of excitement and dread.

  * * *

  “I heard a story once.” Lisbet’s voice had a soft, faraway note as if she were recapturing a childhood memory or a pleasurable dream. They were all standing on the deck beside Jethro as he steered the boat. None of them took their eyes off the island as it loomed closer. “It was a folk story about the hills of Avalon. It tells of two springs, one on each of the outer slopes. The water from the spring on the right is the purest in all Otherworld, as sweet and as clean as the morning dew. It is said to have healing properties. The water on the left hill comes from a different fountain. The liquid that bubbles up between its rocks is foul and stagnant. Where it touches the vegetation, it scorches it brown as if acid has been poured over the grass. No birds fly nearby, no living creatures drink or bathe in its waters.”

  “There are many stories of Avalon. No one really knows which are true.” Jethro kept his eyes fixed on the island.

  Lisbet continued as if he had not spoken. “It is said if the two spring waters ever flow all the way to the foot of the hills, they will meet at the base of the central mount. There they will merge to form an elixir more powerful than any magic that has existed since time began.”

  “I heard the same story.” Where Lisbet’s voice had been dreamy, Aydan’s was fearful. “In the version I was told, the waters on the right contain the tears of angels while those on the left carry the blood of demons.”

  The fog clinging to the lower slopes of the hills had a faint incandescent glow. What lurked in its depths? Jethro wondered. Mystery? Madness? His hand automatically groped for Vashti’s. Seeking the security of her touch had become second nature to him now. Her fingers were cold as ice. When he glanced down at her, her face gave away nothing of her emotions, but he knew how much she was dreading this. She was here for him. Their unique symbiosis was her only reason for placing her life in danger. The thought strengthened his resolve. Jethro had never lacked courage, but couldn’t courage and foolhardiness sometimes be confused for the same thing? Vashti’s presence reminded him of the difference. She reassured him of more than that.

  Somewhere, over the course of this mission, finding the challenger had started to matter to Jethro for reasons other than money. He had always known Moncoya was an evil bastard, but that knowledge had never touched him personally. Until now. He believed his feelings had changed because Moncoya had sent Iago after him. It surprised him to realize that was not the case. He wanted to find the challenger and topple Moncoya from his throne forever because of the way the faerie
king had treated Vashti. Because of the untold hurt he saw in those glorious blue eyes whenever she heard her father’s name. Because of all the things she never said. He wanted to hurt Moncoya in return for all the times the faerie king had made his own daughter suffer.

  They were close enough now to see houses huddled on the central hillside within the drifting, ever-shifting fog. Higher again, rising out of the remnants of clinging mist, there was a vast castle. It was perched precariously on a ridge, perfectly positioned so it gave a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the surrounding ocean.

  “We are being watched.” Jethro’s voice was grim.

  “Did you think we would not be?” Vashti looked up at him. “Iago knew we were coming. If he’s here, and I sense he is, he will have been expecting us.”

  “Will he kill us as soon as we step foot onto the island?” Aydan asked.

  “That won’t be nearly enough fun for Iago. He’ll have some game in mind first.” Jethro tried to sound confident. “We have to make sure we emerge as the winners.” He glanced down at Vashti. “Right?”

  There was a flicker of a smile in the depths of her eyes. “You’ve met my father. He taught me winning is the only way. Being a good loser was never an option for Moncoya’s daughters.”

  “You have never been to Avalon before.” Lisbet’s voice was cold as she issued the warning.

  “And on that cheering note, I think our welcome party awaits.” Jethro steered Igraine into a harbor. From what he could see through the mist, it was a pretty place, dotted with tiny fishing craft. His comment about a welcome party was a reference to the murky figures his sharp eyes had picked out. A group of three men stood on the harbor wall, observing their arrival. With a sinking heart, Jethro recognized Iago in their center. A confrontation on his arrival after a long journey would not have been Jethro’s choice. But would anything about this have been his choice?