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Bryna sat on the sofa next to her gentleman friend who, Rye was happy to see, was very much alive. After the initial attack McManus had been unconscious for a while. Cassidy had thought him dead, but he remained among the living.
For now.
Doyle. All this time, the traitor had been right under his nose. Rye hadn’t seen the deception, hadn’t even suspected. Echo hadn’t seen it, either, which meant that Doyle’s abilities were much more than an unsteady bit of telekinesis. Flying pots and an impressive gift for blocking. Judging by a lingering odor in the room and singe marks on the door, he also controlled fire, to some extent. An inborn gift or a one-time trick? It was impossible to know at this point.
Whatever gifts he possessed, they weren’t enough to satisfy him. Doyle wanted Cassidy. He wanted her powers, the same amazing abilities Maisy had tried to take.
Rye stood in the center of the main room where he’d watched his daughter grow up. From an infant, to a toddler, to a curious child. Soon she would be a young woman. God above, she deserved to be a young woman. A grown woman. A mother to her own children one day. A grandmother who warned her own grandchild against using potentially dangerous magic.
He wanted to rush to her, to take her into his arms, but he didn’t dare to move while Doyle held a knife to Cassidy’s slender, pale, vulnerable throat.
Curse or no curse, powerful or powerless, he was Cassidy’s father; he loved her. He would do whatever was necessary to save her, even if it was the last thing he did.
“What do you want?” Rye asked. His voice was rough and unsteady. “Let her go, and I’ll give you anything. Anything at all.”
Doyle looked and sounded downright cocky as he answered, “My brother and I decided that we want what you have, and what you have can be had through her, thanks to a very old spell Walsh discovered.”
Power. Magic. The ability to have anything his heart desired with a snap of his fingers. Doyle was not without considerable magic of his own, but he wanted more. He wanted it all.
“Brother?”
The man who held a knife to Cassidy’s throat smiled. “You knew my brother well. You taught him, for a while. He was your last student, before Echo Raintree came along to revive your teaching career. That’s why I had to be the one to come here, to make the arrangements on this end.”
It took no magic for Rye to understand. His student Walsh, the one who had expressed an unhealthy interest in Cassidy and what she could do. Knowing that Walsh and Doyle were related he could see a minor resemblance. In the nose, in the shape of the mouth. He saw too late.
He had to keep Doyle occupied until he figured out a way to disarm him without hurting Cassidy. If he talked awhile, if his arm and hand relaxed. Would he be fast enough to move in and take that knife if Doyle got sloppy?
“You’re Ansara?” Rye asked, taking a half step forward.
“Yes and no. Walsh, my late brother, could claim a tenuous connection through his mother,” Doyle said with a weird hint of humor. “She died young, so my father, our father, took him in. We both secretly took the Ansara name a few years back. There’s power in a name.”
One word stuck with Rye, out of all that. “Late?”
Instead of relaxing, Doyle’s grip on the knife tightened. “Walsh and I had a disagreement over how we should proceed here. I had to remove him from the equation.”
So, Doyle had already killed—his own brother—and would not hesitate to do so again.
Rye lifted his hand, palm forward. He was ready to beg, to plead. He’d do anything...
Doyle shifted the knife he held on Cassidy so that it pressed against her skin. “Use any of your magic on me, and I’ll kill her here and now.”
Rye dropped his hand. For a long moment, he didn’t respond. For all his abilities, Doyle didn’t see that he had no powers? Cassidy knew—he could see it in her eyes—but she said nothing to give him away. They had even spoken of the curse...though Doyle had not been around to hear details of the curse or its removal.
“Tell me what you plan to do,” Rye said. “This spell Walsh discovered...is it the same one Maisy attempted?”
Doyle nodded. “Ungrateful bitch. She knew Cassidy was meant for me, not for her. I’m glad you took care of her.”
The dark man he had been had ripped out Maisy’s throat and then set her on fire. Cassidy had been there, but how much had she seen? He prayed she had not seen much.
“Maisy is nothing but ash now,” Rye said.
Doyle nodded his head. “Thanks for that.”
“I don’t understand.” Rye took another small step forward. “What kind of spell is this exactly?”
Doyle noticed Rye’s forward movement this time. He nodded his head and motioned for Rye to move back. Reluctantly, he did so.
