by Gaelen Foley
She stared, shocked to see him in this godforsaken pit where he’d endured hell on earth. She could not imagine what it cost him to come down personally and face the place again, when he could have easily sent one of his countless henchmen. Instead, he had come alone.
He stopped outside her cell and immediately began unlocking it with his key; still upset with him, she didn’t know what to say.
For that matter, she didn’t know what to expect, either—a reprieve or more trouble?
Warily, she studied the stark look on his angular face, but he was closed within himself once more, utterly guarded, mysterious, impossible to read.
In truth, she was so disoriented from being locked up, she wasn’t even sure if it was night or day.
He slid the door open and gave her a curt nod. “Come out.”
Emily was all too glad to leave her cell, but she darted past, eyeing him in suspicion. “You mind telling me what’s going on?” she demanded.
He shut the door behind her. “You and Max are leaving the castle, now.”
Her eyes widened. “We are?”
“You’ll use that break in the wall where you slipped out to meet me in the woods. It’s almost dawn. I want you out of here before the sun rises.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll follow when I can. It’s a bit more complicated. I’ll have to bring the boy.”
“Right,” she murmured, eyeing him mistrustfully.
“Wait here for a moment.” He gestured to the guard’s empty stool by the wall, beneath a hanging lantern. “I need a private word with Max before you two set out.”
“You’re not going to hurt him, are you?”
He turned and looked at her in dismay. “No, Emily.”
She shrugged, sending him a pointed look of reproach.
His mouth tilted ruefully. “We hit each other harder than that in training.”
“Humph.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “You’re angry at me.”
“Oh, how unfair of me! I can’t imagine why!”
“I’m sorry, but I had to make it look convincing,” he whispered impatiently.
“You fooled me,” she said with a snort, folding her arms across her chest as she sat down beneath the light. “Honestly. That’s your apology?”
“But surely you knew it was just a ruse!” he exclaimed in a low tone.
She sighed and shook her head. “Oh, Drake, I am so heartily sick of ruses.”
He frowned. “Stay here, I’ll be right back,” he muttered. Then he stalked off once again into the shadows.
Drake took leave of her and went to free his boyhood friend. His fists were clenched. With every step, he had to keep his mind fixed on the task at hand because being down in this place was too horrible.
If returning to Waldfort Castle was not bad enough in itself, never had he dreamed he would ever come down to the dungeon of his own free will.
He’d had no choice. He had to get them out of there, Emily and Max. All he could do was ignore the volcanic rage and pain coursing through him at the memories, struggling on to do what had to be done.
When he came to Max’s cell, the marquess glared at him. “You’ve really turned into quite a bastard in your old age, haven’t you?”
“I know,” Drake forced out in a droll tone as he opened the cell door. “Come out.”
Max eyed him in suspicion.
“Hurry up! We haven’t got much time.”
Max took the invitation gladly, leaving the cell with a few swift strides, pausing to glance up and down the dark corridor.
“Sorry about all this,” Drake mumbled.
Max turned to him. “What the hell is going on?”
“You’re getting out of here, and you’re taking Emily with you. I have a plan.”
“Really?” he drawled. “And to think, I was beginning to worry.”
“Well, don’t. By tomorrow, the Prometheans will be no more than a dark legend. Gone.”
Max’s face instantly sobered. “How? My team’s not far. What do you need us to do?”
Drake told him what he had in mind.
When he had explained, Max stared at him. “You’re sure?”
He nodded in grim resolve. “It’s the only way.”
Max studied him, then shook his head. Abruptly, Max hugged his friend. “Go with God, brother.”
“Just take care of my girl. If she should be with child, forge the papers for a marriage, will you?”
“It’s as good as done.” Max grasped both his shoulders and stared imploringly at him. “Are you sure there’s no way you can get out of this?”
Drake considered, then shook his head. “There’s a slim chance I could get out unscathed, but I don’t want you to give Emily false hope,” he whispered. “Believe me, I’ve tried to come up with something else, but this is our last option. I’m confident I can get the boy behind the blast door. Myself, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be fast enough.”
“We’ll wait.”
“Just make sure the three of you kill any of them who might escape.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Max assured him with a gleam in his silvery eyes.
“And make sure you collect Stefan from the tunnel as soon as you can afterward. Try to get in there quickly. He’s going to be terrified.”
“I’ll make sure he’s safe.”
“And take him back to his family.”
“We will.”
Drake paused, lowering his gaze. “Don’t tell Emily what’s really going on until you’re well away from here. Otherwise, she’ll likely do something rash. She’ll end up ruining everything.”
Max gave him a pensive smile. “She’s a good woman, Drake. First-rate. Your parents were wrong to forbid her to you.”
Well, it’s too late now, he thought, clearing his throat against the lump that briefly constricted it. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the corridor. “You two need to get out of here before it’s light.”
“I won’t argue that,” Max muttered.
Drake walked back to Emily, dreading this moment, hoping he could hide his heartbreak. It was time to say good-bye.
“All right, then,” Drake greeted her. “You both have got your jobs.”
She stood up hopefully as he returned with Lord Rotherstone.
“Emily, you’re going to show Max the way out. He’s got his team outside the walls. You’ll join them. We’ve got a few schemes up our sleeves. Max will explain more about it once you’re clear. Show us that break. Better hurry,” he added, glancing back in case his men were wondering how much longer he’d be gone.
She nodded and sped ahead of them toward the fissure in the foundation wall. Beckoning them toward it, she explained the drop that Lord Rotherstone would come to on the other side.
The tall, lean agent nodded and vaulted up into the break, sliding in horizontally between the heavy stones. “Don’t take too long,” he warned.
“I’m right behind you,” she whispered with a nod.
Then he disappeared into the predawn twilight.
She turned to Drake. “You’re coming soon?”
He nodded. “I’ll be along as soon as I’ve got the boy. Sometime later today.”
“Be careful, and hurry.” Having decided to discard her anger at him for locking her up in the dungeon all day, now that she knew his reasons, she pressed up onto her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “See you soon.”
He grasped her forearm gently. “Wait,” he whispered as she started to move toward the opening.
She turned to him in question. “What is it?”
He stared into her eyes. “I’ve got a favor to ask of you.”
“Anything,” she said at once.
“There will come a moment where Max is going to ask you to fire an arrow. You have to do it—for me.”
She furrowed her brow with a curious smile. “That’s all? Fire an arrow?”
“Yes. It’s crucial to the plan. Will yo
u do it?”
She shrugged. “Of course.”
“Promise me, Emily, that you will not fail.”
She took his hand and placed it on her chest, over her heart. “I promise you, dear Westwood, I will shoot whatever blasted arrow you want as long as we’re getting out of here.” Then she paused, a bit puzzled. “Surely one of your fellow agents is a better shot than I am.”
“Not with a bow and arrow. Besides,” he said, “I want it to be you.”
“Then I will do it, and my aim will be true.”
“Thank you.” He looked tenderly into her eyes. “I can always count on you, can’t I?”
She smiled ruefully at him. “You know you can.”
He cupped her face between his hands and kissed her with quiet, soul-searing passion.
She trembled, eager to be free of this place at last. The sooner she left, the sooner their new lives together could begin.
“Let me go,” she whispered. He had drawn her into his arms, and even now refused to release her, though she tried to push him away with a doting smile.
“I’m so sorry about yesterday,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I did it—”
“For the same reason you do everything,” she interrupted. “To protect me. I know.” She caressed his cheek. “It’s all right, my love. I forgive you, I suppose.”
He turned his face to kiss her palm. “You are all that is good in the world to me,” he breathed. Then he captured her hand and kissed it, and sent her on her way. “Now go. And do as Max tells you in the meanwhile. You can trust him as you’d trust me.”
“Hurry,” she shot back. “I’ll miss you. And don’t scare Stefan. Keep him smiling as best you can, all right? Just pretend it’s a game.”
He nodded.
Then she climbed up toward the break in the wall; he steadied her as she crawled toward freedom.
Emily glanced back, holding on to his hand a moment longer through the stones. “I love you!” she whispered.
“I love you, too, sweetheart. I always will.”
His soft words made her beam and blush and smile from ear to ear. “See you soon?”
He nodded mutely, unable to speak. Someday, my love. She sent him a kiss, then her fingertips slid out of his grasp, and she was gone, vanishing through the wall.
The emptiness in that stone crypt without her was profound. All the light seemed to go out of the world. But Drake warded off the temptation to despair.
His work that day had only just begun.
He filled his lungs slowly with a deep breath, lifted his head, squared his shoulders, and headed for the stairs.
Stopping to blow out the lantern nearby, the better to conceal the fact that his “prisoners” were no longer in their cells, he paused, suddenly realizing that he was standing near the entrance to the torture chamber.
Icy loathing arrowed down his spine. Instinctual terror choked him, making his heart pound. He stood very still for a long moment, but then he knew he had to face it one last time . . . before the end.
Slowly, by inching, agonized degrees, he made himself walk over to it and peer through the open doorway into that dark place. The chamber where they had taken a hardened agent who had once, as a lad, aspired to be the Order’s greatest hero and turned him into a ruined, cringing wretch to get their information. Every name of every agent that he knew. But they had failed.
He had never broken.
Somehow, near the border of all that his body and soul could take, his mind had performed a sleight-of-hand trick that had left even him fooled, folding in on itself, as it were, leaving him a blank slate who could remember nothing.
And then James had made them stop, fearing they’d kill him, and the information would be lost.
Dear old James, that master manipulator, had taken a man born an earl and turned him into a slave.
And so he would have remained if it were not for Emily. She had rescued him as he had once rescued her.
Fully restored by her love to what he truly was, he had to fulfill his destiny—not the Alchemist’s foolish prophecy. The one Virgil had prepared him for.
But it would cost him . . . everything. And after their brief taste of love in this dark place, it was a price he did not want to pay.
He would have given up anything to stay with her, even his soul, his sense of right and wrong, and so, yes, he had wavered in the face of temptation; but she was gone, and he would be an Order agent to the end.
He would go into the temple and die tonight killing the enemy, as he brought his well-played ruse to its close.
It was the only way. He could finish this war for all of them, forever. The Prometheans en masse would meet their fiery reward, and his own suffering would end.
Peace filled him at last as he finally accepted the inevitable. This was his destiny.
He knew that Max and his team would take care of Emily for him. He did not have to worry anymore about keeping her safe. She would be devastated when she realized the truth, but this was how it had to be.
She’d heal in time, he told himself, and, someday, she would find a way to be happy without him. For himself, he was grateful for the time they had had together. At least they had had a taste of the love that could have been.
Drake reached in and pulled the door to the torture chamber shut. He locked it, then slid the key under the door, where no one would ever be able to find it. They’d never be able to open that hellish compartment to terrorize anyone else.
With that, he pivoted on his heel and marched resolutely toward his fate.
At the end of the corridor, he began climbing the stone staircase that led back up into the castle.
Still lost in his wistful thoughts of Emily, he opened the heavy door at the top of the stairs, stepped out into the octagonal antechamber—and was suddenly grabbed from behind. Niall Banks jerked him off-balance, slipped behind him, and thrust a pistol against the back of his head.
“Don’t move.”
Chapter 21
Niall was gratified when Westwood froze for a second, taken off guard, but the current leader of the Prometheans recovered his composure—and his sarcasm—rather quickly.
“Gracious, Niall, a guest in this castle, and this is how you behave?”
Niall wrenched his arm for his insolence. “Mind your manners, or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”
“Easy—”
“Shut the hell up.” Niall’s heart pounded.
While the surgeon had tended the gunshot wound to his shoulder up in the tower room, a few of the Prometheans who had once been loyal to Malcolm had slipped in to see him, defying Westwood’s orders.
In hushed tones, they had told him all that had transpired at the castle, and having heard it, Niall vowed it would not stand.
His entire being churned with hate, rage, confusion, and loss. But he focused all his fury on this lying upstart, the interloper, who had killed the only man he’d ever thought of as his father.
Now he’d never know if Malcolm or Virgil had really been his sire, and therefore, would never know who he really was.
It was all Westwood’s doing, and yet the bastard had the nerve to stand there and mock him—even after stealing his rightful place?
It was time to take back control.
Niall knew, however, that he couldn’t just kill Westwood in cold blood and simply expect the others to recognize him as leader.
He was well aware that some of them did not respect him as they should, believing he had received his prominence in their organization merely because he was Malcolm’s son, not because he’d earned it.
He had to show them once and for all that he deserved to be the next head of the Prometheans, and he realized he could do so by exposing Westwood as a fraud.
Somehow, he had to make the earl admit that he was lying.
Niall had found some supporters to back him up—men who were also unsure if Westwood could be trusted, but feared the black-eyed Englishman too much to stand u
p to him without someone like Niall to lead the charge.
They, as well as men loyal to Drake, had come rushing into the cramped octagonal chamber.
Hostility filled the room.
“We’re going to have the truth now. Watch his face, all of you!” Niall barked at them. “You’ll see it in his eyes if you look hard enough. That’s right. Take a good look at your so-called leader,” he instructed over the buzz of their low, worried murmurs. “He got to James somehow and tricked you all, but there is no doubt in my mind this man is still working for the Order!”
“Oh, really?” Westwood countered in a bored tone, sounding not the least impressed with their insurrection nor concerned about the gun to his head. “And have you got proof of that? Because I’m really beginning to find your accusations rather tedious.”
“We both know you’re just trying to distract attention away from your own incompetence. You led those Order agents straight to us by allowing yourself to be followed. Your father would be so disappointed.”
The pain of his father’s death still fresh, Niall tensed at the reminder. “Don’t you dare speak of him, you lying bastard.“
“Niall, it’s plain that grief is clouding your judgment. We all know you are a man ruled by emotion. But you need to stop and think about what you’re doing here,“ he advised calmly. “Otherwise, you’re going to end up just like Malcolm. Dead.”
Niall shook his head with a low laugh at the impudent warning, checking his outrage. He thrust his pistol harder to the back of Westwood’s skull. “You’re in no position to be making threats, you cocky son of a bitch. I know why you’re here. To deceive us all, just like Virgil taught you to, under deep cover. But it’s over, Westwood, you filthy Order spy. You’re not going to get away with this deception anymore. Not with me. I’m not James.”
Drake was counting the seconds.
He had already raised his hands in a token surrender, but his true purpose in doing so was merely to keep them high enough to strike more easily when his moment came. He’d have to be damned fast about it, too, or things could go nastily awry.
Meanwhile, the fact that so many of the guards had left their posts, drawn to watch the confrontation, would give Max and Emily a few more precious seconds to get away.