Three Fates

felt, with a kind of primeval thrill, her own nails rake the flesh of Anita’s wrist.
    And she scented blood.
    The gun spurted out of Anita’s hand, skidded over the floor. They grappled for it, Anita clawing blindly as the smelling salts Tia had flung at her stung her eyes. A fist glanced off her cheek and made her ears ring. Her knee plowed into Anita’s stomach more by accident than design.
    When their hands closed over the gun at the same time, when they rolled over the floor in a fierce, sweaty tangle, Tia did the only thing that came to mind. She got a handful of Anita’s hair and yanked viciously.
    She didn’t hear the glass shattering as they rammed into a table. She didn’t hear the shouts from downstairs or the pounding of feet. All she heard was the blood roaring in her own head, the fury and elemental violence of it.
    For the first time in her life, she caused someone physical pain, and wanted to cause more.
    “You hit my mother.” She gasped it out and, using Anita’s hair as a rope, slammed her head over and over against the floor.
    Then someone was pulling her away. Teeth bared, hands fisted, Tia struggled as she stared down, watching Anita’s bloodshot eyes roll back in her head.
    Gideon stepped over, picked up the gun, and Malachi turned the still struggling Tia into his arms. “Are you hurt? Jesus, Tia, there’s blood on you.”
    “She kicked her ass.” Cleo sniffled her way through a grin. “Can’t you see, she kicked her fat, sorry ass.”
    “Tilly.” The adrenaline dumped out of her system and left her limbs feeling like water. Her voice was weak now, her head starting to spin.
    “Ma’s with her. She’s ringing an ambulance. Here now, here now, darling, you’re going to sit down. Gideon, help Mrs. Marsh there.”
    “I’ll do it. She’s frightened.” Holding on, Tia stayed on her feet. Her knees wanted to buckle, her legs to give, but she took the first step. The second was easier. “Get her out of here, please. Get Anita out of here. I’ll take care of my mother.”
    Stepping around the unconscious Anita, Tia hurried over to untie her mother. “You’re not going to be hysterical,” Tia ordered, pressing a kiss to her mother’s bruised face as she dealt with the knots. “You’re going to lie down. I’m going to make you some tea.”
    “I thought she would kill you. I thought—”
    “She didn’t. I’m perfectly fine, and so are you.”
    “Tilly. She’s dead.”
    “She’s not. I promise.” Gently, Tia helped Alma to her feet. “An ambulance is coming. Lie down now. Everything’s going to be fine.”
    “That horrible woman. I never liked her. My head hurts.”
    “I know.” Tia brushed Alma’s hair back from her bruised temple, kissed it. “I’ll get you something for it.”
    “Tilly.” Alma gripped Tia’s hand.
    “She’s going to be all right.” Tia leaned down, put her arms around her mother. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
    “You were very brave. I didn’t know you could be so brave.”
    “Neither did I.”
    To Tia’s surprise, her mother insisted on going to the hospital with Tilly. And was just as forceful in sending Tia home again.
    “She’ll drive the doctors crazy. At least until my father gets there and calms her down.”
    “It shows a good heart”—Eileen set a cup of tea in front of Tia—“that she was more concerned with her friend than anything else. A good heart,” she added, touching Tia’s sore cheek, “goes a long way. Drink your tea now, so you’re steady when you talk to those policemen.”
    “I will. Thank you.”
    She closed her eyes as Eileen left the room, then opened them and looked at Malachi.
    “I never thought she could hurt you. I never thought she’d—I should have.”
    “It’s no one’s fault but hers.”
    “Look at you.” He cupped her face gently. “Bruises on your cheek and scratches as well. I wouldn’t have had it, not for all the money in the world, not for the Fates, not for justice. I wouldn’t have had one mark on you.”
    “There are more on her, and I put them there.”
    “That you did.” He lifted her to her feet to hold her.
    “Smelling salts dead in the eyes. Who but you would think of it?”
    “It’s done now, isn’t it? All the way done?”
    “It is. All the way done.”
    “Then, are you going to marry me?”
    “What?” He eased away, slow and careful. “What did you say?”
    “I asked if you’re going to marry me or not.”
    He let out a short