Lost In You

by Alix Rickloff

  He rubbed a hand down his face. Sat back with a groan. “She’s worse.”

  Gram nodded in agreement. “Yes, and yet she’s been more among us these last few weeks than in all the years since Talan and Richard disappeared. She bears watching.”

  Conor pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll add it to my lengthy list right after conquering Asher and winning the girl.”

  “So you do want her.” She offered him a satisfied smile. He blew out a breath. Plowed a hand through his hair. “I don’t want her dead. But I see no other way.”

  She closed the book, tapped the cover thoughtfully. “Still, you search the teachings.”

  He stretched his neck to work the stiffness out. Pushed back from the table to stand, trying to shake off the gloom Aunt Glynnis had left behind. “I thought one of the tales might offer some hope.”

  “And?”

  “I haven’t found it yet. But there’s an entire library to wade through. And I’ve only two weeks to come to a decision.” He scanned the rows of shelves. God. It would take him months—years—to read through this clutter.

  She rose to stand beside him. “You are only one man and one pair of eyes. It goes against your nature to do so, but ask for help. There is one who knows this library and its contents better than she knows her own children.”

  “Mother.”

  “She would help you if you asked.”

  “I doubt it. And I wouldn’t blame her.”

  “Of course not. You are too busy blaming yourself.” She took him by his shoulders. Her head barely came to the middle of his back, but her grip was strong as steel. She aimed him at the door. “Go to Niamh. Speak with her. She mourns her daughter. But she misses her son.”

  Conor strode toward the library. What he was looking for, he didn’t know. Why he was looking, he refused to examine. There was only one way to satisfy the curse placed on the reliquary. Ellery’s blood. So why waste time searching for another course?

  He threw the library door open, pulling up short at the sight of his mother seated at a desk, parchments spread out before her.

  She pulled a pair of spectacles from her pocket. A recent need he didn’t remember. Settled them on her nose. “Conor? Are you quite all right? You look flushed—out of sorts. You’re not still sick, are you?”

  “No.” He thought about his grandmother’s advice. Dismissed it. To let anyone else know Ellery’s true purpose was to court disaster. Any hint of it reaching her ears would send her flying from here. Straight into Asher’s waiting arms. He was sure of it. “I…” so how to explain his presence here? “I came to see if you wanted to go for a walk. We could take the beach path. Head toward the shore.”

  She pursed her lips. “I haven’t been that way since Ysbel’s death. That was always her favorite ramble.”

  Shit, he’d forgotten. “Well, another way. Toward the dovecote and the orchards.”

  “It’s kind of you to ask, but I’m in the middle of something. Tracing a passage in the Llanfarnan writings back to its source. I’m hoping I can find something in these entries by Ogham.”

  “Sounds fascinating.”

  She gave him an indulgent laugh. “Liar. You never were one for the past. But it’s here. All around us.” Her eyes glowed with enthusiasm. “And so much of it being lost amid the confusion of the Mortal world. Forgotten. Or discounted as legend. Myth.”

  How many times had he heard this speech growing up? His mother’s passion for her studies at the expense of anything else was a family joke. And yet, her knowledge of the past was as much a power as any he possessed. “You won’t lose much by taking an afternoon off. A legend here. A prophecy there.”

  She glanced at the open door behind him. “Where’s that young woman of yours? Wouldn’t you rather walk with her?”

  “Ellery’s with Gram.” He offered his arm. “Mother?” Her gaze dropped to her book, then up to the clock. “Thank you, Conor. But no. I have so much to do before I lose my light. And the weather’s a bit unpredictable. I’d hate to get caught in a downpour.”

  “The weather’s perfect.”

  She took off her spectacles, wiped them with her handkerchief. “Is it? Oh, well, you go on. Take Miss Reskeen. She seems very pleasant. Rough around the edges, but that should suit this family.” She threw him a fleeting smile. “It takes some spunk to put up with all of you.”

  Why was he surprised by her refusal? It made sense. “Perhaps another time,” he said.

  He sketched her a bow, trying to exit with as much grace as he could muster. He couldn’t stay. She’d question it. Or worse, she’d not say anything, Her silence, confirmation of her disappointment in him.

  Asher stalked his chambers, his slender hands clasped behind him. He’d been so close. Bligh had been on his knees before him and the girl.. Those sweet curves, that lovely unmarked face. Yes, the girl would have pleasured him for many days before she died. And then it had all come crashing down around him.

  The dagger had been unexpected, but not in itself alarming. What gave him pause was that the taint of cold iron had penetrated his spells of protection. Disrupted his magic.

  And what made him blind with fury was that it had allowed Bligh the time to escape—to cower within the secure walls of his family’s estate. Go to ground like the Other vermin, he was.

  Once his brothers were free and the Triad held dominion, the race of Other would be the first to suffer. The abomination of fey and Mortal could not be allowed to continue. He would wipe them clean from the earth.

  Only Conor Bligh and his woman stood between him and this new age.

  But all was not lost. If his spies were right—and he rarely let them live long if they weren’t—Daggerfell was compromised.

  Safe, no more.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Conor’s eyes snapped open, his mind instantly aware of the breeze through the open window, the cool sheets against his skin, the moonlight throwing shadows across the floor. Everything familiar. Everything that was home.

  But his chest pounded, his muscles tensed. Warnings went off in his head. Something was wrong. The land was silent. No scream from the hunting owl or call of the nightjar. No sighing of the trees as the earth cooled.

  Instead, the mournful sound of crying met his ears and the rush of running feet beneath his window. He threw himself out of bed. Snatched up his breeches. Instinctively slung his sword across his back.

  He’d wondered how long it would take Asher to test Daggerfell’s wards once again.

  He had his answer.

  He reached out, using his powers to search for echoes of the demon’s magic, but there was nothing. He’d not come himself, then. He’d sent an assassin to try his luck.

  The Keun Marow back for another try? No.

  The true fey within the borders would have cried out at such a disturbance. Shaken the household with their fury and their fear. But he alone seemed the only one to notice this intrusion. The family slept on.

  Coming out into the hall, he nearly collided with Aunt Glynnis. Hysterical, she gripped him, her eyes wild with malice and horror. “You.” A wicked smile twisted her face. “He’s here. He’s come home. Vengeance shall be mine, sayeth the Lord. As you took my love away, so shall he take yours.”

  Simon. Ellery.

  He pushed her away and ran for the stairs.

  Ellery sighed and rolled over, punching her pillow, adjusting her nightgown. She was too hot. Too cold. Thirsty. Itchy. The list went on and on, but she wasn’t fooling herself. She knew what it was her body was craving and it wasn’t another piece of steak and kidney pie or a cup of warm milk.

  How had it happened? How had she not felt the trap closing before it was too late? She’d prided herself on her strength, her independence. She’d sworn never to be beholden to a man again. They were takers, all of them. And they offered little in return.

  Yet, she stood prepared to throw that aside for the heady rush she felt whenever Conor was near. For the spiraling heat that dre
w her up and up until she thought she might burst for wanting him.

  Somewhere close, a door slammed. The latch rattled. A sour wind rushed through the room, billowing the curtains. Glynnis on the prowl again?

  Ellery sighed and rolled back over. Stared up at the ceiling. It was going to be a long night.

  Conor pulled up short at the sight of Ruan sprawled on his side, his hand clamped to his ribs, his face pinched and white. “He fucking stabbed me.”

  Conor knelt, pried Ruan’s fingers away from the oozing wound. “It’s not fatal.”

  “Small blessings,” Ruan grunted from between pressed lips.

  “Where’s Simon now?”

  “He’s gone toward the back stairs.” Conor straightened, drawing his sword. Testing its grip.

  “Will you survive until I return?”

  “Aye, well enough. Go. Find him. And put a few holes in the blighter for me.”

  “As good as done.” Conor dashed for the stairs.

  Simon stood between Ellery and the door. “Asher’s anxious to meet you.”

  Her stomach rolled and her legs wouldn’t stop shaking. She tried not to give Simon the satisfaction of knowing how scared she was. “It’s an introduction I’d rather pass on if it’s all the same to you,” she brazened.

  “Afraid not, pet. He’s asked for you, so he’ll have you. That’s the deal. And he doesn’t take kindly to disappointment.”

  Remembering the evil glow in the demon’s eyes, she could well imagine. But she didn’t want to be Asher’s latest entertainment. She screwed up her courage. She’d get only one shot at freedom.

  He grabbed for her arm, but she twisted out of his grasp, pivoted before he could recover his balance, and lashed out with all her strength.

  Her fist landed flush against his cheekbone, the force of her blow numbing her arm. She ignored it in her race for the door.

  Simon was two steps ahead of her, his weapon drawn. He herded her back the way she’d come until she stood cornered against the wardrobe. A hint of hesitation crossed his features. Enough to give her hope and the courage to question.

  “Why me?” she asked.

  “You interest him.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry. Circumstances have made us enemies, and I’ve come too far to turn back now.”

  “Is that what you told Ysbel?”

  The blade froze Ellery where she stood, its edge sharp as ice. She tried backing away, but the wardrobe stopped her.

  “Don’t mention her name in front of me.” His voice had gone dangerously quiet. “My devil’s bargain is made. And I received everything I wanted from it.”

  “Conor will kill you,” she breathed around the mounting panic.

  “He can try.” Simon leered toward her, his expression ugly in its victory. Long scratch-marks striped his face, and an angry blotch stained his left cheek. “You’re treed, my girl.”

  She swallowed, the dagger digging into her skin. Her breath caught at the sting of pain that followed. “Perhaps.” She found enough courage to smile. “But then, so are you.”

  She screamed.

  Conor set his shoulder to the door, hurling it back against the wall even as he spoke the words that would bind Simon. Hold him fast.

  The scene was one of a hard-fought struggle. Discarded bedclothes, an overturned table, a lamp lying amid the shards of a broken pitcher and basin. Ellery was backed into a corner, a scream dying on her lips, a thin beading of blood across her neck where Simon’s blade had pierced it.

  Simon fought to move, and a puzzled frown crossed his features.

  Conor held out a hand. “Ellery. Come away. He can’t harm you.”

  Before she could slip out of his grip, Simon laughed. “Is this the power Asher fears will undo him? Let me show the girl what real power is.”

  He closed his eyes, began to whisper.

  Razor pains sliced through Conor’s body, down his legs, out his arms. He jerked back, barely holding onto his sword. Each second brought a new pulse of the knifing agony. Through his gut. Slashing his heart. Tearing at his muscles. As if his body were being scythed from the inside out.

  He dropped to his knees, trying not to cry out. He struggled to break the spell’s hold, but Simon’s curse smothered his attempt as easily as a breeze snuffs out a candle’s flame.

  Ellery struggled. “Stop it. You’re killing him.” Simon slapped her. She staggered then steadied herself, her face cut by Simon’s wolf-head ring.

  “I should thank you,” Simon said. “Cloaking my magic was more difficult than I’d imagined. But no more hiding. No more daggers in the dark.”

  Lights burst across Conor’s vision. His head felt as if a vise were crushing it. Was this inhuman power Simon’s reward for turning Ysbel over to Asher?

  Just before he lost consciousness, Conor relaxed into the spell, allowing it to wash over him, through him. Then with a discipline honed over years of training, he focused his energy, shut his emotions down to let the fey in him take over. The pain subsided. The fear and rage and panic dissipated as the power moved through him.

  All his attention on Conor, Simon never saw Ellery’s elbow until it rammed into his stomach with a wind-knocking blow.

  He doubled over with a shocked whoof of spent breath, his concentration broken.

  The curse’s final release ripped like a blade through Conor, but he was free of it. He got to his feet. “Get out,” he gasped.

  Ellery scrambled from behind Simon and dashed out of reach, disappearing out the door.

  Thank God, she was safe. Conor saw in his mind’s eye the thin red line across her neck, and his renewed rage filled the emptiness. Flowed over.

  “Does your taste in murder run only to defenseless women?” he growled. “You should try your new talents on someone your own size.”

  Simon straightened, his dagger still gripped and drawn. “I did. And I almost succeeded, amhas-draoi.” He spat the word like an obscenity. The demon magic swirled around him like a protective shield.

  Asher’s wards were too strong for Conor to defeat Simon that way. And now that Conor was prepared, Simon was equally defenseless. Magic would not win this war between them.

  “Fight me on your own. Without Asher’s help,” Conor challenged. “If you dare.”

  “I’m no”—Simon lunged with the dagger—“fool.” Conor easily deflected the blow. Stepping into the attack, he tasted victory and vengeance. His sight narrowed to the space between them, the clash of steel.

  “Savage.” The shrieks behind him stayed his hand. “Killer.” He wheeled on the ball of his foot, his fury coloring everything around him. Only his Heller reflexes sent the blade whistling past this new intruder instead of cleaving her in two.

  “Satan’s child,” Glynnis screamed, her face warped with madness. “You’ll not kill my son as you killed the others. I’ll send you to hell myself before I let it happen.”

  She held a pistol pointed at his chest. “Mother,” Simon gushed. “Your timing is perfect.” He stabbed out and up, aiming for Conor’s lungs.

  Conor wrenched himself sideways, the dagger burning a path across his side. At the same instant, Glynnis screamed and fired. The bullet’s impact slammed him to the floor. Smoke blossomed around him, the report ringing in his ears.

  As he fingered the blood welling from his blackened shoulder, the temptation to shift had never been greater. His body tensed, his mind poised to work the magic that brought about the change. He ignored the wound, scrambling to his haunches, prepared to spring.

  “Not so fast, Conor.” Simon pulled him back from the brink. “One move and Mother joins husband and son in the great beyond.” He stood behind Glynnis, pressing her back against him with a firm hand around her waist and the other holding the dagger at her throat.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Oh?” Simon pushed the blade close. Glynnis whimpered, trying to move away.

  “Conor, let them go.” Ellery stood in the doorway, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. Be
hind her, Father and Gram hovered in the corridor.

  “He’s bluffing.”

  “Do you think so?” Simon started to slide the blade across Glynnis’s throat, a trail of blood springing up behind it.

  She screamed. “Conor.” His father’s voice held a note of warning. “He’ll kill her.”

  Conor crushed the grip of his sword in his hand. “I’ll finish this tonight.”

  “Let him go, my grandson.” This time Gram spoke. “He is not worth the reckoning you will owe for killing your own blood.”

  Conor lowered his weapon. Blood snaked down his chest, across his abdomen, dripped to the floor. His side ached from the glancing dagger blow. But already his body began renewing itself. He’d live. “Run. Get out.”

  “No one is to follow us.” Simon backed through the doorway, past the others who stepped aside, letting him go.

  He pulled his mother with him down the stairs, Glynnis’s crying growing fainter before it faded out.

  Heavy running footsteps replaced it coming back up the stairs. Morgan rounded the corner, half-dressed in a nightgown, light silken robe, and boots. “He’s crossing the lawn, headed toward the gallop. If we hurry, we can cut him off in the wood.”

  “How is Ruan?” Gram asked as if she hadn’t heard. As if she had all the time in the world. She had, once. But now time and the future were unraveling. And Simon was getting away.

  Morgan pushed her hair off her face with an impatient gesture. “He’s with Jamys cursing a blue streak. He’ll recover. But Simon…” She pointed to the stairs.

  “Follow him,” Mikhal answered. “Stay far enough back he doesn’t feel cornered, but keep an eye on Glynnis. She doesn’t deserve this, no matter what she did in her confusion.”

  “I’ll go,” Conor said as Morgan disappeared back down the stairs.

  Mikhal cast a glance at Conor’s shoulder. His side. “See Jamys about that.”