The Dirt on Ninth Grave - Darynda Jones Page 0,120

the glass and said it again, louder this time. “Elle-Ryn-Ahleethia!”

Nothing.

He shook the pendant in his palms. Looked at his minions, confused. Then let his gaze wander to me. And he stilled.

He was sharp. I’d give him that. He caught on faster than I thought he would. He snapped his hands together to close the pendant, but a microsecond before it shut, I said it.

“Kuur.”

Thankfully, he had a short name. The locket clicked closed, and silence blanketed the area. He waited with bated breath, realizing I’d stolen his blood when I slapped him and put that on the glass in place of my own.

I heard a series of sharp thuds. Someone was pounding on a metal door. Then I heard a sharp bang and, in my peripheral vision, saw a sequence of struggles. I didn’t dare take my focus off Kuur, but I could just make out the smooth, deadly shape of my husband as he snapped neck after neck to get to me. Another skirmish, just as short as the first one, involved Osh and three minions. Garrett took on two more when they tried to run.

But Kuur’s eyes were glued to the pendant. He was just about to release a sigh of relief when a lightning bolt reached out and grabbed him. Tiny branches like spider legs crawled around him. Ripped at the beast inside. Closed like a fist.

And he was gone.

The pendant hung in midair for several seconds, then dropped. I reached out and caught it. Then, so that word of this did not leak, I obliterated every departed present with a single, devastating thought.

23

We are the granddaughters of the witches you weren’t able to burn.

—UNKNOWN

I packed up what few earthly possessions I had, which mainly consisted of a dozen or so articles of clothing, a tube of mascara, lip gloss, hair bands, and a killer collection of boots. Even amnesiac me had had a thing for boots. I also packed the trinket box, but the pendant I kept in my pocket. I still had some work to do in that area. I was going to get those human souls out of there if it was the last thing I did.

At first I thought James’s minions had taken Ian’s body and cleaned up the place, but Reyes, who hadn’t left my side since he lifted me into his arms and carried me out of that warehouse, informed me that he and “the guys” had done it.

Exhaustion had overcome me after the fight. There were bodies scattered across the warehouse floor. Reyes snapped one last neck and pushed the minion aside before sprinting toward me and sliding on his knees to kneel before me. And I looked into the familiar – and painfully handsome – face of my husband. My beautiful, surreal husband.

“Dutch,” he whispered, scanning my face for injuries. His dark irises shimmered with relief that I was alive and relatively unharmed, considering the situation. Then he saw my neck, and the flames that forever sheathed him grew slowly. Steadily. Lethally.

“That was fun,” Osh said as he walked up to assess my condition for himself.

Garrett followed him, an impish grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. “I’m thinking you should take up a new hobby.”

Osh nodded in agreement. “One that doesn’t involve people or supernatural entities trying to kill you.”

I let out a breathy laugh, my relief complete, absolute. I knew who I was. I knew who they were. I was no longer floating in a sea of uncertainty. Not about my identity, anyway. I glanced at my husband and fought the concern that threatened to draw my brows together. He didn’t notice. He lifted me into his arms and left Osh and Garrett to discuss the cleanup of the warehouse.

I didn’t say anything when I nestled further into his arms in the back of an SUV that Garrett had rented. Having apparently come up with a plan, Osh and Garrett got in, and we headed to my apartment.

Reyes watched me the entire time. His fingers slid over my face, leaving a soft flame in their wake. It was the last thing I saw before falling into a deep, tranquil sleep.

When I jerked awake at three the next morning, still cradled in Reyes’s arms, we spoke little and loved a lot. A really lot. We made love more fiercely than I ever remembered. And yet, for some reason, I didn’t tell him that I had gotten my memory back. Not just yet. I didn’t want to ruin