Master: Arrow's Flight #3

by Casey Hays

  His expression twists with irritation that quickly turns to apprehension. He faces me, his eyes betraying his unease. My thumb fumbles nervously over the lump on my wrist. I study the scar, look at him, and I decide to ask a question of my own.

  “Do you know how I got these?”

  I lift my wrists toward him expectantly. His gaze falls over the scars, then settles on my face.

  “Yes,” he breathes.

  “How?”

  “Mona tied you to a tree.”

  I drop my hands to gawk at him in astonishment. “Why?”

  “Because of me.”

  Something in my heart quickens. Claudia simply stares, unsure what to make of his statements. But I should remember this. I should remember him . . . because of this.

  “Why would Mona tie me to a tree because of you?”

  He thinks on it, and I fear he isn’t going to answer me. But after a moment, he scratches his chin, hands Claudia a wary glance, and gives me an answer.

  “Clearly, you don’t remember much about Mona or you wouldn’t have to ask.”

  His answer is short, to the point, and leaves me just as dumbfounded as before. I frown.

  “Where is Justin?”

  He raises his brows. “Why?”

  “Because he was supposed to bring me to Jordan. Why didn’t he?”

  “He wasn’t supposed to bring you. I was.” His voice rises with irritation.

  “And how did we meet?”

  He hesitates only a moment, casting his eyes toward Claudia before he says it.

  “In the Pit.”

  I digest this small bit of information, and a keen realization strikes me—something I had not considered until this moment—and I take in a horrified breath and cover my mouth. The stuffy room suddenly feels that much warmer.

  “You’re from Eden,” I whisper. “You can’t possibly be . . .”

  My words trail because my thought is absurd, and he stands frozen to his spot. Of course, he’s not my mate. He couldn’t be. But how could he know about the Pit unless he was there—in my village—with Justin and the others?

  Mona dragged me to the Pit even while my challenge against her was warm on my lips. This I do remember. And I remember the darkness, the cruelty of the jailers, the dank smell of a cramped cave . . .

  I struggle into my memories searching for his face. The dark spot of the cave invades my mind and grows until I see the bamboo bars. I see him scratching at them, digging at the dirt with his bare hands. But it can’t be real. My mind plays tricks with me. I shake the image away and focus on him.

  “I don’t think we should talk about this,” Ian says. “Not now.”

  His voice is low and cautious, and somehow, I know he’s right. I ask anyway.

  “Why not?”

  “Because if you were feeling like yourself,” he answers through pursed lips, quiet enough for Claudia to miss his words from across the room. “You wouldn’t want to.”

  I stare at him, confusion fuddling up my already confused mind.

  “How far did you bring me from my village?”

  He swallows. “Far,” he whispers.

  “How far?” My question is harsher this time, and I burden him with hard eyes.

  “Kate. . .” The sound of my name is a slow ache. His expression contorts, an evident pain creasing his brow. He raises his hands, palms up. “I think we need to speak alone.”

  “No,” I say.

  He sinks to his knees beside the bed, pressing his body up against the edge of the mattress until he’s close enough for me to feel the heat emitting from his skin. I tense, but he doesn’t reach for me. He doesn’t lay a single finger on me, yet his warmth alone holds me in place. His eyes search my face beseechingly.

  “I can answer your questions better if we’re alone. It really might help you remember.”

  I clutch the edge of the blanket and search for Claudia. She’s still there against the door, quietly keeping her promise. I straighten, pin my eyes on him.

  “I have no plans to be alone with you.”

  I want to sound commanding, but I clench the blanket more tightly to still my shaking hands. My voice trembles, not the least bit convincing, and the agony in his eyes eases as he notices my weakness. The pinch of a smile teases the corner of his mouth. He places his palms flat on the bed and looks at me.

  “Okay,” he nods.

  Suddenly, he reaches out and grazes my hand with the back of his fingertip. I tense instinctively. In that split second, his blood runs warm, and it holds me in place, still and attuned to him. I study the lines in his hand, the pulsing veins beneath the bronze skin. His touch echoes from him and through me—a magnetic slice of heat that binds us, and I think . . . I know this touch. I know it.

  My eyes glide up to meet his. I’m frozen.

  He slides his fingers the length of my arm. His hand rests a moment, covering my own smaller one, and my mind begins to reel out of control as the rhythm of our twin heartbeats intertwines to form a single pulse.

  “Ian.” Claudia takes a step in warning. I barely see her, but Ian holds up a hand to stop her. His fingers fall away, shattering the beat.

  Claudia shifts uncomfortably, straightens her frock, and clears her throat.

  “Maybe . . . you should ask a question now, Ian. To help her remember.”

  He climbs to his feet, scratches his head. “Okay. Um...”

  He never has his chance. Swiftly and abruptly, the door swings open. They both turn.

  A young man stands in the doorway—tall with dark hair and green eyes that hone in on Claudia, full of fear.

  “What is it, Michael?” she asks.

  “They’re coming.” He speaks to Claudia, but then turns his gaze on Ian. “Someone must have spotted you in the village. They’re sweeping every house.”

  Ian tenses. Michael says nothing more, but his intense expression sends Claudia into frantic motion. She scrambles past Ian to the bedside table, scooping up a basket from the floor and hurriedly piling bandaging in it.

  “How soon?” she asks. Her fingers work lids onto bottles before she shoves them into the basket.

  “Ten minutes, tops. They’re two houses down.”

  “Where’s Aaron? Is he with the kids?”

  “He left.”

  She stops, faces him. “What do you mean he left?”

  “He said he was tired of waiting. He’s going after Penelope.”

  Silence. I raise my brows. Claudia’s arms stiffen at her sides as her face flushes red with anger.

  “What is the matter with the men in this family?” She whirls, irritably tossing the rest of the items together into the basket. “Can’t you all just stay put? I hope Thomas didn’t wander off again, too.

  “No. He’s here. For now.”

  Satisfied, she glances up at Ian. “We have to hide you both.”

  “What’s happening?” I ask.

  “Soldiers,” Ian answers.

  The sound of banging sounds off the walls and ricochets down the hallway. Claudia gestures, her fingers flying frantically. She exchanges a terrified glance with Michael.

  “This way. Hurry! If they find you here, we’re all in trouble”

  Without another word, Ian slides his arms beneath me and scoops me up. I wince as he settles me against his chest, but I don’t have time to protest. Death is knocking at the door again.

  “You okay?”

  I nod, close my eyes as nausea settles in.

  Claudia quickly peels the dirty sheets from the bed, removing all evidence that she’s been treating injuries in this room. She piles them on top of the basket, hefts it into her arm, and in seconds, we’re in the corridor. More banging. Shouts.

  The children wait in the living room.

  “What’s happening?” Thomas asks. “Is it the bad soldiers?”

  “Yes,” Michael takes the boy under one arm and ruffles his hair before swinging his other arm around the girl. “But you two have nothing to worry about. They
aren’t looking for you.”

  He drops to his knees, meeting the boy eye level. “You have to promise me something, Thomas. Something that will keep all of us safe. Can you do that?”

  Thomas nods vigorously.

  “You can’t tell anyone about Kate and Ian, okay? No one can ever know they are here.”

  “Are you putting them in the cellar?” Thomas shudders as he says it, and my anxiety rumbles through me in the form of a little boy’s fears.

  “Yes,” Michael replies. “And then all of us will be safe until the bad men leave.”

  “Okay,” Thomas agrees.

  More banging. “This is Private Mills! You’re ordered to open the door for inspection.”

  “One minute, please!” Claudia calls out.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Ian says. He looks to Claudia and then Michael. “I can leave.”

  “It won’t matter, Ian.” Claudia opens a standing cabinet located against the wall and deposits the basket inside. She locks it. “They’re looking for Kate, too.”

  Ian’s arm muscles tense against my back.

  “What do you mean they’re looking for Kate?”

  “They know you brought a dying girl to Jordan—one Captain Snow could identify. And they know finding Kate means likely finding you. Or luring you out.” Claudia’s words are definite, and all former unease she exhibited in Ian’s presence dissipates as the situation turns graver. “So it doesn’t matter whether you go or whether you stay.” She pauses, nods at him. “You can leave, but she isn’t strong enough to go anywhere right now.”

  He doesn’t argue after this. In fact, he pulls me just slightly closer to his chest. I cling to his neck, helpless, and I scowl inwardly at my weakened state. So weakened, I couldn’t save myself if I was called to do so. His anxious eyes pierce me, and I have to look away. My heart races at the speed of roaring wind.

  We follow Michael through the kitchen to a pantry full of stocked food. With a heave, he shoves one shelved cupboard aside and squats to feel along the very edge of the back wall. He removes a discreetly hidden piece of paneling to reveal a lever. One quick pull, and a bulk of the floor folds back. Ian releases a surprised puff of air.

  “What is it with you guys and your home-grown secret passages?”

  Michael chuckles guardedly and waves an upturned hand toward the opening.

  “There’s only a ladder, no stairs, so be careful. It’s small, but it’ll be safe.”

  I ball Ian’s shirt in my fists, fear mounting as he gently lowers me to my feet, his arm firm around my waist. I steady myself, release my hold on him. When my knees give, he’s there hoisting me back up.

  “You got it?” he asks.

  With a nod of my head, I stare into the black, gaping hole a moment longer before I bend and grip the top step. Slowly, one shaky move at a time, I work my way to the floor below.

  A loud crashing in the living room shakes the foundation and the ladder. I pause in my descent, casting an upward glance.

  “What is it?”

  Ian leans in. “Keep moving, Kate.”

  “It’ll be pitch-black once we close this door.” Claudia’s voice is distant, rushed. “There are matches and candles on a table to the left.”

  “Okay,” Ian responds. I stand at the bottom of the ladder staring up at the square of light. The air is cool. I rub my hands up my arms.

  “We’ve stocked some food and water, too. You’ll see it, and lots of blankets. Keep Kate warm. We’ll come for you as soon as it’s safe.”

  The minute Ian’s head is below the top rung, the cellar folds into a darkness so black it defies existence. I hold still, cursing myself for not lighting a match until Ian slides off the final step and bumps into me. He whirls to catch me—a strong, invisible arm in the darkness—as I lose my footing.

  “Sorry,” he whispers.

  Above us the cupboard slides roughly back into place. I shudder. But Ian’s wish is granted.

  We are utterly alone.

  Chapter 16

  I

  an’s hands are warm on my back, cutting through the stone-cold chill of the cellar. He slides away from me, and a second later, light flashes with the strike of a match, and the smoky, bitter scent swirls within the flame. He lights three candles on the table and lifts one, shining it across the breadth of the small room.

  “I suppose you don’t remember my insane dislike of tight places?”

  He half-smiles, but the unease doesn’t leave his face. He circles the tiny space, sets the candle down. The gray bricks are harsh and containing, and I shudder as I take them in.

  “Are you cold?” he asks.

  “A little,” I concede. I realize I’m still holding the Scriptures clutched to my chest. I squeeze the book tightly, my body aching. “I think . . . I need to lie down.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  He helps me to a battered mattress covered in blankets. It creates a clumsy bed, but it’s comfortable enough, and I’m grateful for the warmth as I bury myself. Crouching beside me, Ian rummages through one of many boxes squatting against the wall and produces a bottle of water.

  “I was wondering if they had much water left. There’s at least a hundred bottles in here. Looks like they’ve been stocking up for a time just like this one.”

  He holds the bottle out to me. He lifts a small paper bag and examines the label.

  “Dried fish?” he cringes. “Just what I want. Fish that’s been dead for who knows how long.”

  He shudders. I stifle a smile, and cast my eyes toward the ceiling.

  “Do you think they’ll be okay?”

  He lowers the bag to look at me.

  “Probably.” After a minute, he recants, shaking his head. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  “Do you think we’re safe in here?”

  He lifts his chin, head tilted.

  “You’re safe.”

  I shake my head. “How do you know that?”

  “Because you’re with me.”

  “Wasn’t I with you when they shot me?”

  I bite my lip immediately after the words spill from my mouth. It was a harsh statement, and I regret it. His body stills completely.

  “Yes,” he says miserably. He stands, chucks the bag of dried fish back into the box.

  “I only say this because I’m not sure I’m safe anywhere,” I explain. I raise my hands dejectedly. “Look at me? I’m a broken mess. I’m afraid Death wants me.”

  He drops to one knee beside me, and without thinking, he reaches a tentative hand to brush away a loose strand of my hair. I flinch, but the gesture is somehow familiar, and his touch is warm, which lessens my resistance. It’s too cold and dark in here for resistance. I need all the warmth I can find.

  “Death wants all of us.” His voice rings out quietly, muted by the enclosure of four stone walls. “Trust me.”

  I nod. He settles onto the floor beside me with a sigh.

  “This is my fault,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “Because I was stupid.” He leans in, plucks a piece of balled fuzz from one of the blankets and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger. “If I’d just laid low, maybe Penelope would still be at home, you’d be getting the care you need, and we wouldn’t be hiding in a cellar.” He lifts his eyes to find me. “You may not remember this about me, but I’m kind of hot-headed.”

  He blows at the piece of fuzz. It floats to the floor and disappears in the shadows near his knee.

  “I see.” For some innate reason, I’m not surprised. “And yet, perhaps these soldiers have their own agenda regardless of your temper.”

  He shrugs. “Yeah.”

  The room fills with deep silence. I take a drink of my water.

  “I need you to know something.”

  There’s a serious note in his voice that cuts through me—right through my bones—and for a minute, he looks helpless. Big, strong, and utterly helpless. I lower the bottle to listen.

  “I don’t even kn
ow if it’s the right time to say it, but I have to.” He pauses, studies his hands before he pierces me with his steady gaze. “You . . . are my whole life, Kate.”

  My heartbeat stills as if it stands at attention, listening with me. I clutch the edge of the blanket, release it.

  “What happened at the river . . . I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again. Life is dangerous, unpredictable.” He bumps his fists together as he talks. “You’ve also made me see that I can’t protect you from everything.” He smiles. “I’ve screwed up enough times now to know better.” His hands still. “But we took a chance on a life together. I left Eden for you—twice. You left your village for me. This is who we are, and we agreed to face every danger together—on this side of the river. So . . . I’m here. Forever.”

  I have no idea what to say to this. My mouth runs dry, and I think about taking another drink, but I can’t move. He’s pinned me into place with the things in his heart.

  He sighs. “Until you remember all of that, this right here is enough for me.”

  A promise lingers in his incessantly blue eyes. It waits for me to remember, and a deep-seated feeling creeps over me. In the dark, exactly like this I’ve known him. I bite my lip as the strong sensation filters through me. My nerves, chopping at each other like dueling swords, skitter away—and I understand. There’s no need for them here, not with some distant resonance of Ian—a memory that screams at me from behind a trapped door inside my head.

  I examine him, and I decide to trust in the scream.

  I take a quick breath.

  “You meant all of that?” I ask.

  He smiles. “Every word. And I know you don’t know it, but I happen to have it on good authority that you feel the same way about me.”

  This makes me smile, but I quickly turn serious.

  “Why do you think I’ve forgotten you? Do you think it’s as Claudia suspects?”

  He doesn’t move except to visibly swallow the lump that rises. A wave of discomfort washes over me, and I squirm beneath it.

  “Maybe it’s too hard to remember us.”

  “But . . . why?”

  He chews on his lower lip. “Because something happened when we decided to love each other.” I hold my breath, concentrating on his lips in the orange glow. “The world beat up on us, tried to convince us that we didn’t have a chance together—that we don’t belong together. And because that didn’t work, it keeps trying to kill us.” He shrugs one shoulder, a quick up and down motion. “I’m not sure what comes next, and frankly, I don’t blame you for wanting to forget.”