Ignited (23 page)

“As you wish. Stepfather. Soon after that we heard a rumor that the Blackwells were harboring a Healer in Blackwell Falls.”

Freaking Lottie. She’d set that fiasco in motion when she told Spencer and Miranda that a Healer had moved to town. She’d hated my relationship with Asher and how my powers had begun to affect her, so she’d sicced the Protectors on me, hoping that would take care of things. Except Asher and Gabe had found out in time and arranged to hide me while Spencer and Miranda came to investigate.

“So?” I asked Seamus.

“We followed up on the rumors, but the Blackwells said they had killed the Healer. By the time we figured out they had lied, it was too late. You had disappeared from Blackwell Falls, along with your family and the Blackwells. It was not until Gabriel Blackwell surfaced in Europe that we had a lead.”

I’d never stood a chance. They’d been on to me before I’d ever moved to Maine and met Asher. It had only been a matter of time before they discovered me. Everything that had happened had served as a delay tactic putting off this inevitable moment.

“So you’ve found me,” I bit off in helpless anger. “What exactly do you want from me? Because if you think I’m going to let you use me, think again. I’d rather die and take you down with me.”

“We have no intention of hurting you. If we had, you’d already be dead. I could have taken you in California, but I didn’t.” His gaze challenged me. He spoke the truth, and we both knew it. “You belong here with us, Miss O’Malley, where we can keep you safe.”

Never.
I shook my head and felt my lip curl in disgust. What was it about me that made these bastards think they could control me? They would keep me safe. Right. Did they think I was stupid? I placed both hands flat on the table on either side of my untouched bowl. He didn’t seem to notice when my fingers curled around my fork.

“And if I don’t want to stay?” I asked.

Seamus sipped his wine, eying me thoughtfully. “Really, I’m surprised at you. We’re doing you a favor. The sooner you reconcile yourself to that, the easier things will be for you.”

He said I was safe in one breath and threatened to lock me away in the next. The rage slammed into me like a train, obliterating reason. I’d been a prisoner most of my life.
Never again.
I snapped to my feet, all reaction and no thought, and stabbed my fork into Seamus’s hand. It crunched through bones and skin before it hit the hard table on the other side with enough force to puncture the wood. Seamus grabbed for his hand to free it, while I lifted his knife off the table. His two guards launched forward, but I’d already spun behind Seamus, pressing the knife against his throat.

I lowered my shield, letting the hum of my energy stream through the air. “Feel that, Seamus? Imagine what it will feel like when I slice your throat open. I can make you feel it all.”

“Stop! Don’t touch her!” Seamus yelled to the men, and they stopped moving. To me, he said, “Remy, I don’t think you understand.”

A noise gurgled in his throat when I let the knife slice his skin a little. “Understand what? That you want to make me your puppet?”

Seamus didn’t answer. He exploded upward, knocking my arm away. His head slammed into my chin, and I saw stars as I twisted around, reaching for my shoulder. I kicked his chair forward with enough force to knock him off balance and then yanked on his outstretched arm. His weight acted against him, and I only had to move out of his way as he crashed to the floor. Then I was on him, straddling his chest, as I placed the knife once more to his throat.

Blood seeped out of a thin cut at his neck, and I stared into his widened eyes. His mental wall tumbled down, and I sensed him readying to attack me, poised to steal my energy to weaken or kill me like Protectors had done to Healers for the last century. A haze of fury surged through me. My mind snapped wide open, and I attacked first.

The monster inside me tasted Seamus’s power and it roared, wanting more. Heat flashed inside me as my energy lashed to his, taking, taking, taking. My heart thudded at twice its normal speed, and red sparks exploded in the air as I stole his energy.

“Stop, girl!”

The voice broke through my concentration, and I glanced over at the man who’d spoken. Sean stared at me in horror. Beneath me, Seamus’s blue eyes were wide with fear and agony. I could kill him, but if I did, I would become like him. Immortal and unable to feel a simple touch. That, more than anything, enabled me to break free and pull myself back from the edge. The monster, denied what it wanted, snarled inside me, and I shoved it back in its cage.

Slowly, I lifted the knife from Seamus’s throat and eased away from him, rising to my feet. He didn’t move, hardly dared to breathe. I backed away from his prostrate body, circling the table to steer clear of his men. They seemed as eager to avoid me, watching me with wary expressions. I reached the doorway as Seamus sat up with Sean’s help, holding a hand to his bloody throat.

He shouted, “Stop! We’re not who you think we are.”

I didn’t have to be told twice to run.

Panic placed my heart squarely in my throat, and I gasped for air as my head swung both ways, looking for an exit. I tried to remember which way Sean had carried me through the house, but the memory had faded. Making a decision, I turned left, running down the hall while footsteps gave chase behind me. I pushed myself hard, and my feet slid, looking for purchase when I rounded a corner faster than I’d expected. I steadied myself against a table, and the knife went spinning through the air.

I had reached some kind of entrance hall with a grand staircase leading to an upper floor. I dove for the front door and gave one last look over my shoulder before turning the doorknob. And what I saw stopped me in my tracks.

Seamus entered the hall with several men on his heels. He backed off when he saw where my gaze had latched on to and threw out his arm to stop his men.

“It can’t be,” I whispered. “This can’t be.”

A large tapestry hung at the top of the stairs. The art depicted a family crest with a ship, a horse, a wild boar, armor, swords, and bows and arrows woven into the design. I moved closer, trying to make out the words under the design.

“It’s an old O’Dugan quote from the fourteenth century,” Seamus said softly, pointing at the words I tried to read. “It says, ‘A good man yet there never was, of the O’Malleys, who was not a mariner; of every weather, ye are prophets; a tribe of brotherly affection and of friendship. ’ ”

O’Malley. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Who are you?” I asked.

He approached within reaching distance. “I am Seamus O’Malley, and you are my kin, Remy O’Malley.”

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

H
e held out a hand like we’d met in polite company without the kidnapping and the threats. In Muir Woods, I’d thought him vaguely familiar, and I understood why now. His features, the black hair and blue eyes, they echoed my father. Seamus wasn’t an exact copy, but rather a duplicate of a duplicate of a duplicate. Hints of the original existed, but the lines had blurred between the generations.

“What do you want with me?” I demanded.

“I mean you no harm.”

That wasn’t an answer. I avoided his outstretched hand, the one I hadn’t stabbed. “I don’t believe you. You kidnapped me,” I accused.

He winced a little, finally dropping his hand to his side. “And you put a fork through my hand and tried to kill me. I’d say we’re even, cousin.”

I started, backing away a step. “Cousin?”

“As far as we can tell. And let’s just say there are a lot of greats in front of cousin.”

“Did you know I was an O’Malley when you began tracking me in New York?”

He shook his head. “No. The Healers have done too good a job hiding their bloodlines.”

“You say you’re not like the Morrisseys, but you track Healers. Why? To give them friendship bracelets?”

Heavy sarcasm dripped from my words, and Seamus seemed to be biting back a smile. “We don’t track Healers. We track Healers like you whom we suspect might be something more.”

Imagine that. Protectors hunting me for my mixed blood. “And my father? Did you know about him?”

“No. The O’Malleys . . . disbanded a long time ago. We didn’t know what family you belonged to until we tracked you to Blackwell Falls. You can imagine our surprise when we realized the girl we sought was a daughter of O’Malley.”

One of his men shifted, drawing my attention. They had spanned out into a half circle to surround me. Sean spoke into a radio, and I guessed others waited on the other side of the front door. I balanced on the balls of my feet. If any of them made a move, I would run and chance facing what waited outside. I cursed myself for letting that stupid tapestry distract me. Sure, I’d taken Seamus down while riding high on his energy. Could I do it again with five Protectors ready to take me? Not likely.

“So now what?” I asked Seamus. “You expect me to fall in line because we’re family? No, thank you. My grandfather already tried that tactic, and I showed him what I thought of his plans.”

“Remy, look at me.” I did and Seamus spoke in a low voice full of sincerity. “I’m not going to hurt you. I swear it. We brought you here to keep you safe.”

My eyes narrowed in distrust, and I waited for my bullshit meter to go off. It didn’t. Something told me that Seamus spoke the truth. Yet, he’d threatened people I loved. I took one step back toward the door, reaching behind me for the handle.

“You kidnapped me for my own good? That’s your story?” I scoffed.

A guard handed Seamus a cloth and he wrapped it around his bloody hand, his mouth tilting in a rueful smile. “I can see I’ve handled this all wrong. I expected you to be grateful when we rescued you from the Blackwells.”

Rescue? I stared at him in confusion. “The Blackwells are my friends.”

He grimaced. “No wonder you attacked me. We thought you were their hostage. Obviously, I was mistaken. Give me a chance to explain who we are, and if you still want to leave, I’ll let you go.”

He sounded like he meant it, but people lied all the time to get what they wanted. Unless I wanted to battle it out with these men, though, I had to play along.

“Fine,” I said. “We talk, and then I leave.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” Seamus said. “I need a first aid kit to take care of this.”

He lifted his crudely bandaged hand, and I flushed. “Don’t expect an apology,” I warned him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said in an amused tone. “This way.”

The four guards backed up to allow me to follow Seamus to the staircase. I walked past them, almost tiptoeing with caution and sure I was making a huge mistake. What if I was following him into my prison? A bead of sweat dripped down my back. I hesitated halfway up the stairs when Sean climbed after me. Outnumbered and cornered? No way.

I crossed my arms. “I’m not going another step until you tell your friends to go play elsewhere.”

Sean actually looked affronted at the idea that I found him suspect, but I didn’t care.

Seamus sighed. “You do realize that it’s me who has come out of both of our encounters wounded?”

I didn’t budge and he caved, telling Sean, “Wait here. I’ll yell if she tries to kill me again. Happy?” he snapped at me.

I nodded and climbed the stairs to reach him. “Delighted. It’s not every day I get kidnapped by a distant cousin.”

He snorted but didn’t answer. We rounded a corner and entered a long hallway with portraits of dead people hanging high up on the walls. There was no furniture in the hall, and the sensation that the painted eyes followed me creeped me out.

“Why don’t the other Protectors know you exist?” I asked.

Seamus paused in the long hallway, his expression curious. “What makes you think they don’t?”

“Asher said that a lot of the Protector families know each other, but the Blackwells didn’t know about the O’Malleys.” I thought of the genealogy book I’d found. The O’Malley bloodline had seemed to drop off after the last entry in 1629.

“Good. That’s exactly what we wanted.” We reached a doorway, and Seamus said, “Wait here a moment.”

He returned a second later with a first aid kit, and we continued on to some kind of sitting room with fancy wallpaper and enormous framed portraits of women from different time periods. Seriously, who needed this many paintings of people from past centuries?

Seamus set the first aid kit on a low table and motioned for me to join him on a sofa of brocade cushions and carved wooden details. I left a cushion between us, and watched him attempt to open the first aid kit one-handed. My conscience pricked at me, but I ignored it. I was not going to help this man. We might share a last name, but we weren’t family.

“What did you mean when you said you wanted to keep me safe?”

Seamus grimaced. “You have a lot of people after you, cousin. The Morrisseys have put the word out that they’re willing to pay a lot of money to the Protector who finds you. We thought the Blackwells were controlling you. And you know your grandfather is here in London looking for you, don’t you?”

My hand shook when I pushed my hair out of my face, and I sat on it to hide how that last statement had affected me. “And you expect me to believe that you’re trying to keep me safe from all of the bad men?”

“It’s what we do,” he responded in a voice that vibrated with pride and sincerity. “Or rather, what we used to do when there were more of you.”

My attention had latched on to a drop of blood pooling in the hollow of his throat, but my gaze snapped to his in shock. “There are more people like me?” I choked out.

“There used to be.”

He glanced toward a portrait on the far wall. The woman’s blond hair had been parted down the middle and hung down her back in long, looping curls. Her green gown had huge puffy sleeves that attached to the dress with ties at the shoulders. The clothing reminded me of something from the 1500s. She wore some kind of gold necklace around her neck. The painter had caught a sad expression in her blue eyes. I found myself wanting to see the necklace up close, but Seamus continued speaking.