“If you’re not, I’m coming back.”
Bran felt Nerezza pushing back against his power, knew he didn’t have enough. Not here, not yet.
“Now. Go now!” he shouted at Sawyer, then heaved both bolts to the ground. The explosion rocked the chamber, filled it with wild light, thick smoke.
Understanding that fierce regret, he dived into the tunnel behind Sawyer.
“Don’t stop,” he ordered. “I don’t know how long a reach she has.”
The rock shook under them. Contrary to orders, Sawyer paused after he jumped out of the tunnel until Bran came out behind him. White smoke curled out of the opening.
“I’d say you’ve got a pretty damn long one. Nice work,” he added as they ran for the mouth of the cave.
Just outside the mouth, the man and his sword stood guard with Riley, arguing bitterly.
“That’s a sword, this is a gun. Guess who wins.” She swiped at the blood on her face, smeared more from the cuts on her hand. “I don’t want to shoot you, but you can bet your ass I will if you don’t get out of my way. I’m going back for my friends.”
“If you shoot me, you’re going to piss me off.” Then he turned when he heard running footsteps. “They’re coming,” he said, and stepped aside.
The minute they stepped clear, Riley punched Bran in the chest—though she pulled it. Then she threw her arms around both of them. “Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch. Don’t ever push me out like that again.” She dragged Sawyer’s head down, kissed him soundly on the mouth, then took Bran’s head in turn. “You’ve got some ’splaining to do.”
“This isn’t the time or place.” He patted her cheek, nudged her aside to go to where Annika sat on the ground beside Sasha, gently tending her wounds with Riley’s first-aid kit.
He crouched down, stroked a finger down her cheek, then over the raw, red bruising around her throat. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you more quickly. I’m sorry she hurt you.”
“Who are you?”
“What I’ve told you. Perhaps a bit more.”
“Her nice shirt is ruined, but the cuts aren’t very bad.” Annika wound a bandage around the long gash in Sasha’s arm. “But she is shocked.”
“In shock,” Riley corrected. “She got the worst of it. It was going way south before you stepped in with the light show. We just couldn’t hold our own.” She glanced back at Sawyer. “But nice shooting, Tex.”
“Back at you.”
“Who the hell are you people?”
They looked back at the newcomer. He’d housed his sword in the sheath he wore on his back and stood, legs spread, face scowling.
Just as Sasha had depicted him, in detail, in one of her sketches. The breeze caught at his black, disordered sweep of hair, tossing it around a face that might have been carved with razors. The high slash of cheekbones, the sharply sculpted, unsmiling mouth, the long, patrician blade of nose. His eyes were fierce and burning green.
Riley ran a measuring gaze over him, from the scarred boots that laced up to midcalf, the long legs in well-worn jeans, the blood-splattered shirt over a broad torso.
She pushed to her feet. “Riley Gwin, archaeologist; Sawyer King, dead-eye; Annika Waters, adorable ass-kicker.”
“Aww,” Annika said, delighted.
“Sasha Riggs, seer. And Bran Killian, magician. To say the fucking least. And who the hell are you?”
“McCleary. Doyle McCleary. And if you lot hadn’t been in the way, I might have had the bitch at last.”
“Fat chance,” Riley tossed back.
“We can have a fine argument about all of it, away from here. Do you mind?” Bran asked as he tapped Sasha’s backpack. When she shook her head, he reached in and found, as he’d thought he would, the sketch of the six of them.
Rising, he walked over to Doyle. “First, I’ll thank you for the assist. Sasha was hurt, and I don’t know if I could have held the bitch and gotten everyone out safe without it. As to who we are, well, there’s this.” He offered the sketch. “We’re a team, and you’d be the last of us.”
“Who drew this?”
“I did.” Sasha’s voice came hoarsely through her abused throat. “Weeks ago.”
“How did—”
“Not now,” Bran interrupted. “We’re all of us bloody and battered. We have a place where we can talk. Private.”
“How the hell are we going to fit him in the jeep?” Riley wondered.
“I have my own way of getting around.” Doyle looked at all of them, back at the cave. Shook his head. “I’ll go with you, and talk about this.” He handed the sketch back to Bran. “Then we’ll see.”