Something in between.
She swallowed hard. “We’ll start upstairs.”
“How could Molly have kept such a secret from me?” Ellery looked up at him from where she knelt upon the floor, her feet tucked under her skirts, her dark curls cobwebbed and dusty from their thorough search. “I know she always envied me the money, but I shared all I had with her.”
Her expression held such bewildered sorrow Conor thought that if Cousin Molly stood alive in front of him, he might kill her all over again.
He cursed himself—not the first time—for his moment of weakness. He couldn’t begin to care for Ellery. He couldn’t begin to think of her in any way. She was a means to an end. Nothing else. “A family member’s treachery wounds more deeply than the mightiest sword thrust.” He ought to know.
She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and sniffed. It was the closest she came to crying. “She was all the family I had. I thought…but I was wrong.”
“You’re right to grieve, but let it be a small grief. She doesn’t sound as if she was worth too many tears.”
Ellery’s gaze returned to her lap.
The reliquary lay there, pulled from the back of a clothespress in her cousin’s bedchamber. Wrapped in cloth and placed within a larger box, they’d almost passed it by. But Conor had felt the power pulling him forward as they searched the room, sensed the reliquary’s dark magic in his blood. He knew it was there.
It had taken one year, nine months, and sixteen days, but he’d found it again. The ancient silverwork was tarnished black, the jeweled lid warped and twisted as if a great energy had forced the metal open. These things Conor knew he’d find.
It had only been as Ellery pulled away the last scrap of fabric that they’d seen the recent damage and the reason her cousin had kept it hidden. Decorating the face of the casket was one great onyx, the black stone seeming to swallow the very light around it. On either side, nothing but two empty settings. One had held a ruby, the other a pearl. Both were gone. But this alone was not enough to cause such pain to shadow Ellery Reskeen’s face. It was the letter folded into a corner of the outer box. A scribbled note to Mr. Porter from Molly, requesting aid in selling the last stolen jewel and keeping the money safe from the “peasant whore’s whelp.”
It had never made it to Mr. Porter’s hand. Cousin Molly had died before she could pry the onyx from its resting place.
“Here. It’s yours,” she said, holding out the reliquary, her lip caught between her teeth.
“I’m sorry about the damage. I’ll pay you back if you give me the time. I promise.”
The mage energy surrounding the box sparked like lightning in the space between them. But it was a dark energy, a subtle drag on his own powers. He murmured an incantation, strengthening his wards of protection, hoping they’d be enough to hold the pull of the reliquary at bay. More sharply than he intended, he answered, “The jewels alone are worth more than you could make in ten lifetimes.”
She lifted her chin. A flash of the fighter glittered in her eye. “I said I’d pay you, and I will.”
He took the reliquary, wrapping it back within its cocoon to muffle its influence. “I think your cousin should repay her own debts, don’t you?”
She frowned. “She’s dead.”
“But Mr. Porter isn’t. And if I’m not mistaken he wore a pearl of unusual size and quality in his neckcloth today. I arranged to meet him tonight. Mayhap it will take him only one lifetime to pay me back.” He flashed a dangerous smile. “That is if I allow him to live it out.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, her face shining with suppressed amusement. “Would you really kill him for this?”
He remembered Porter’s greasy repulsiveness. The man had the personality of a snake. Conor’s fingers itched to be around his throat. To tie him in knots. “For theft, dealing in stolen goods, lechery, and just for being a complete ass, I’d be more than willing to kill him.”
She laughed. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
Chapter Six
Ellery looked around her parlor with a grimace. Had it been only twenty-four hours since she’d sat in this very spot and wished for companionship, a friend during the long, dark hours? She gave a dry laugh. Well, this was a warning to be careful what you wished for.
An open valise sat upon her sofa. Her few pitiful gowns lay in piles on various pieces of furniture in readiness for sorting. Even with Conor’s help, she only had three days to be gone from here.
She glanced up. The damp had become fog. It shrouded the cottage, muffling sounds, gathering like cloud at the edges of the lighted windows. Conor had left, assuring her he’d be back as soon as he could and with his pound of flesh—or Mr. Porter’s, he’d added with a wicked glow in his eyes. Would he return to tell her that her landlord had relented? With what she knew so far of Conor Bligh, it was more likely he’d come back to tell her Mr. Porter had taken an unfortunate fall off the cliffs below the village.
She tried not to give voice to the needling thought at the back of her mind that asked would he even come back at all? Now that he had his reliquary, why bother? He could take it and be gone before those horrible creatures returned. She folded a pair of stockings.
That was what she wanted. She folded a chemise. With the reliquary gone and Conor Bligh with it, it stood to reason the unearthly hounds would follow him. She folded a gown.
Didn’t it?
Looking down, she gasped with dismay. The clothes were a jumbled mess of wrinkled wool and muslin. So much for packing.
A low howl sounded from beyond the fog. Somewhere near Keigwin Tor.
Ellery’s blood froze in her veins. She couldn’t breathe. The quiet catch of the door threw her to her feet. She took swift inventory of the room, snatching up a heavy candle stand, brandishing it like a spear. “Show yourself. If you dare.”
Conor stepped into the parlor doorway, running a hand over hair silvered with fog. He eyed her makeshift weapon. “Crude but effective.”
“You’ve gotten rid of all my proper weapons.” He reached out, taking the stand away from her and putting it down. “And for good reason. Had that been your pistol, I’d have another hole in my ribs.” He touched his side. “I heal, but the power isn’t unlimited. Enough wounds, and I’m as dead as the next man.”
She appreciated Conor’s attempt at humor, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Too much was happening too quickly. She sank into a chair, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “I heard them again. Now that I know what they are, I feel the difference when they’re near. It’s a bitter taste in my mouth, a pain in my lungs as if I can’t breathe the same air.”
Conor raised a brow, but didn’t comment. Instead he said, “They search for the reliquary. Their master desires it beyond all things. He’d do anything to have it within his possession.”
“Will they come here?”
She wanted to flee the cottage, run until she could no longer feel the relentless pursuit of the Keun Marow. But another part of her wanted to stay and challenge them. How dare these creatures think she was easy prey for their sport? She’d grown up with war. She knew how to fight.
Conor seemed to suffer under the same restlessness. He moved like a caged animal, stalking the corners of the room. “We’re safe enough. I’ve strengthened my defensive wards, hiding my presence without alerting them to my magic. I also laid a false trail away from Carnebwen. That’s what detained me. I needed to make it traceable without being obvious.”
“Why do they want the reliquary?”
He paused at the window, closing the curtains against the night. “Asher wants it. They do his bidding.”
Ellery felt as if she were drawing teeth. Every question answered only brought ten more to her mind. “And who is Asher, or is that one of those things you don’t know or can’t tell me?”
His expression was one of uncertainty. “Take a chance I might believe you. It’s the least you can do after having
me thrown out of my house.”
Her stab at amusement fell as flat as his had earlier. Instead, he approached the hearth and the dull fire lit against the damp chill. He clutched the mantel with both hands, his head bowed as he watched the flames. “Asher is one of three brothers, demons of the faery realm. Sons of the witch, Carman. They sought dominion over the fey once before, but were defeated and imprisoned. Now they seek to return.”
Finally some answers. Not exactly ones that made sense by any normal standard, but she had left normal far behind. “And the reliquary?”
“The Triad were imprisoned within the reliquary. Bound to it for all time. It was hidden away to guard against their release.”
Ellery didn’t like where this was going. “But someone opened it.”
Conor’s eyes locked on her. Lit with an amber glow, they reminded her of a wild animal’s. Deadly. Ruthless. Without pity. She looked away, unable to face him.
“Yes,” he said, “someone broke the seals. Asher was set free and escaped, but I kept the other two contained and maintained hold of the reliquary.” So much said in that one simple sentence. Ellery remembered the blood and the carnage in that Spanish chapel. She couldn’t see how anyone had survived that battle. He continued, “I was wounded. I lost the reliquary. I couldn’t follow.”
She knew exactly what it had cost him to stay alive. He bore the scars of that struggle in the dark emptiness of his eyes, the loss of his humanity in return for the power of the fey.
“But you did follow. You followed me. The reliquary was among my father’s things.”
He nodded once. “It was.” He left the obvious assumption hanging unspoken. “But just as I followed your trail, Asher followed mine. He knew I’d stop at nothing to get the reliquary back. And where I can travel easily in the mortal world, he cannot. He’s not of this time or this place. It constrains his hunt. His power. He hopes I’ll lead the Keun Marow to it.”
Her father. Her father had brought all this about. Had he known what it was when he found the ancient casket among the treasures abandoned by the French? Or had it been simple curiosity that started such a cascading chain of disaster? The air seemed colder, the room’s familiarity suddenly unreal. Her lungs worked to expand as she fought for breath. “And then what happens?”
“Either I send Asher back to his prison,” Conor’s head snapped up, his body tense and on the alert, “or he destroys us all.”
In the silence after his words, she heard the sounds outside the cottage. In the garden. In the lane. A shuffling of bodies and a chink of weaponry. She didn’t need to hear their cry to know the creatures were there—and waiting. The Keun Marow had found him.
Conor heard the hunters almost the same instant Ellery’s thought seared his brain. His muscles tightened. His lips curled back from his teeth as he growled low in his throat. They wouldn’t take him. He wouldn’t be dinner for Asher’s army. He thought of his sister. Nor sport for his sadistic pleasure.
He thrust his hand deep in his pocket before he remembered her ring wasn’t there. Instead, his fingers curled on a stone the size of a hen’s egg. The pearl. He’d wanted to present it to Ellery and watch her reaction. But the time for that had passed—if it had ever been.
A low keening wail shivered the air, echoing down the high hills, curling up from the deep coombes closer to the sea. More took up the call as the fey hunters encircled Carnebwen.
An anger grew inside him, a hatred born into him with his fey inheritance and sharpened to a loathing over years of watching people he cared for and loved taken from him one by one. His blood burned, his muscles thickened and warped in preparation for a renewal of the battle on the tor. He pushed the urge away, restraining the shift before Ellery noticed. She’d accepted his explanations this far. He didn’t want to test her limits yet.
He swung around, pinning her with a sharp stare. “Do you trust me?”
She froze, scared but defiant. “Do I have a choice?” Reassured that she wasn’t about to panic, he slid his sword free, testing its balance as he sized up his options. Now that they’d been discovered by Asher’s pack, subtlety and subterfuge were no longer needed. But magic was out of the question as well. Any spells he might wield would only increase their strength. Make his task harder. He gripped his sword. “Stay out of the way, but follow my orders.”
Smashing glass and splintering wood sounded from the kitchen as a pack of hounds stormed the back. Others hammered against the sturdier main entrance. “We’ll force our way out.”
“Through them?” she shouted.
His eyes flicked to a window, overlooking the west side of the cottage. “Only if we have to. Can you manage the drop?”
She followed the track of his gaze before offering him a grim smile. “I’ll manage.”
The hammer blows grew vicious. Howls split the air as the first Keun Marow crashed through the back kitchen.
Conor smashed the window as the lead hound pushed his way into the room. Then another behind him. They slid to a stop. Their gazes narrowed, their nose slits widened as they scented the power he was giving off. He hoped they choked on it.
The first creature drew a knife from his belt. “You?” he hissed. “Here?”
Conor pulled Ellery behind him. “I’m overjoyed to see you too.” He whipped a dagger out, releasing it before he’d finished speaking. It sliced through the air, embedding itself in the first hound. The creature howled and crumpled dead to the floor.
The second Keun Marow paused as if surprised to find resistance. Then he stepped over his dead comrade just as the main door smashed back on its hinges. “We’ll feed well for this night’s work.” His lips drew back over long yellow teeth.
Conor heard the scuffled footsteps as the pack entered the cottage, felt their presence in his mind as a nauseating stench. But he waited. The more of them bottled up inside, the longer he might have to use his power to aid his escape. He had to time it well. The magic would give him an initial edge, but he couldn’t draw on it for long. They’d track it—and him. Once he was away from the cottage, it was up to his natural abilities to keep him and Ellery safe.
He held his sword at the ready. The fey hunter kicked aside a table as he slashed down with his weapon, aiming for Conor’s head. He deflected the blow, then slipping beneath the hound’s guard, Conor’s sword bit deep into its side. The Keun Marow shrieked and fell.
Conor shouted, “Now. Go.”
Ellery scrambled toward the window, as two more Keun Marow pressed the attack. One lunged for Ellery. Conor stepped between them, cutting down and through, feeling the satisfying crunch of muscle and bone under his blade.
The second attacker leapt for his throat. To keep the beast’s claws from impaling him, Conor twisted away, but fell over a table. The hound struck him in the shoulder, the glancing blow sending a sudden pain knifing through Conor’s body. Dark mage energy tore through him, the cold excruciating, the numbing pain dulling his sword arm.
Conor staggered for the window, but stumbled to a halt, seeing Ellery still perched on the ledge, watching the battle with wide frightened eyes. “Jump!” he ordered.
“I can’t leave you.”
“Jump, or we’re both dead.”
She leaned forward on the damaged sill as a hound fought to get to her. Conor lunged, but his sword arm remained clumsy. The hound whipped around, his claws unsheathed. He struck Conor a blow across the chest, before turning on Ellery, raking her arm from shoulder to wrist. She screamed, plunging off the ledge into the darkness.
Chapter Seven
Using the butt of his sword, Conor knocked the hound back before he could strike again. The Keun Marow tripped over Ellery’s forgotten valise, Conor’s blade sliding cleanly home.
He surveyed the damage. Three dead. Two mortally wounded. The pack that attacked him on the tor numbered at least twice as many. He grabbed one of the wounded hounds, fixing him with a deadly stare. “Where are the rest?”
The creature glared back, bl
ood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t expect you here.”
“Why have you come?”
The hound lolled, his eyes glazed.
Conor shook it. He’d no time. He still needed to find Ellery. “Answer me.”
It raised its head. “Magic. Strange magic. Asher wants it.” It said nothing more.
Conor rose, less confused, but more suspicious. His chest on fire, his head muzzy with the hound’s poisonous mage energy, he forced himself to step over the dead and dying to reach the broken-in front door.
He discovered Ellery in the crushed bushes beneath the parlor window. She lay sprawled on her side, one arm flung out as if she tried breaking her fall, the other bent oddly beneath her. The left side of her dress had been shredded by the hound’s attack, revealing deep bloody gashes down one arm and across her shoulder. His heart hammered as he knelt beside her, pushing aside the dark cap of her hair. She couldn’t be dead. Not yet. Not like this.
Her breath caught on a moan. “You’re alive.”
She opened her eyes. “Am I?” She tried sitting up, but fell back with a string of curses that would put any soldier to blush.
He hid behind a stern expression. “Your arm looks broken.”
“It feels broken.”
“The wounds are deep, though the bleeding is sluggish.”
“All words to warm my heart.” Conor couldn’t help it. He laughed. Few faced what she had and came away with their sense of humor intact. Asher and his minions had stripped his bare long ago. “We’ll see to both injuries once we’re clean away.”
She gave a panicked glance back at the cottage. “They’re—”
“Dead, but we can’t stay here any longer. It isn’t safe. Can you travel?”
Ellery closed her eyes for a moment before biting her lip and nodding.
“We won’t have to go far before I can see to your wounds. You’ll be throwing punches again by tomorrow.”
Lost In You Page 4