Where had this damn fog come from? Ellery raised her lantern, its meager light doing little more than reflecting off the wall of damp, swirling cloud.
She’d avoided the main carriage drive, hoping to use the track Conor had told her passed through the orchards before coming out at the edge of the village crossroads. But the fog obscured every landmark. She was sure she’d passed that grove of trees once already. And that outcropping of rock looked vaguely familiar. She was going in circles.
She tried searching the skies for some point to guide her, but the moon had yet to rise, and the stars that were visible seemed off-kilter. Not quite where they were supposed to be from one minute to the next.
She swung the lantern to the left. Then to the right, praying she caught sight of something familiar. Something that would lead her to the village and the road away from here.
As if her presence had stirred the woods to life, the dark suddenly seemed alive. Listening. Waiting. Conor had spoken of the fey who shared Daggerfell’s lands. Would their appearance be help or hindrance? Or was this them at all?
A shape rose up out of the dark like a specter. Dear God. Asher. He’d come back. Or was it Conor seeking her? Either one was a death sentence.
A sob tore up her throat as she spun around, dashing back the way she’d come. Roots and limbs reached for her, wet and slippery leaves set her careening into a stand of holly trees. She ripped herself free, ignoring the stinging pain that followed, dropping the lantern.
She was blind. Out of breath. Her side cramped. She tripped and fell into the base of a fence. Picking herself up, she followed the line, using the posts as guides. Coming to a stile, she scrambled up and over. Then dodged back under the solid wooden stair. There was a space just large enough to fit between the fence and the risers. She crammed herself as far into the hole as she could, clutching her bundle to her chest, using it to muffle the sound of her ragged breathing. They would pass her by. They must.
No leaves rustled. No footsteps sounded. If only her power was invisibility. That would be a magic worth having right now.
“Ellery.” Conor’s voice floated out of the fog. Deeper than she remembered. Thick and raspy as if speaking were difficult. “Ellery. It’s me. Don’t run. I won’t hurt you.”
Not yet. But give him until Beltane and all bets were off. She wasn’t saying anything.
“Ellery. Answer me.”
He was right overhead. She tried holding her breath. Closing her eyes as if that would make her disappear.
“I know Jamys told you about the reliquary.”
A thump echoed above her head. Then another. Had he settled himself on the stile? She was trapped. She couldn’t make a run for it. He’d be on her like a hound on a hare. Like a wolf on a panicked rabbit. And all the knives in the world wouldn’t be enough to stop him.
“I won’t lie,” he continued. “Not now. It’s true. That’s why I sought you out.”
With each word Conor spoke, a warmth seeped deeper through her body. Her limbs felt heavy. Weighted. She tried not to listen to the steady drone of his voice, knowing that he used it to charm her, control her. Like he had those men in the tavern. She shook her head as if she could shake free of him.
“Damn it, Ellery. I have to stop his bid for power. To stop the destruction that will follow if he frees his brothers. The Triad…”
He stopped speaking, but his words rolled in her head like endless echoes. Like the sea. She wanted to hear more. Her control faltered. She touched a hand to the bottom of the riser. Only the thickness of one plank kept her from him. From that voice.
“I can’t go through with it.” His words slammed into her with the force of bullets. “I won’t.”
The need to reach him rushed out like a receding wave, leaving her head pounding. His words had no power. Her mind—complete with headache—was her own.
“I’d already decided. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I’ll handle Asher my way.”
Even without the hypnotic power of Conor’s voice, she wanted to believe him. She wanted him to tell her she was right to trust him. She wanted him.
“If you want to leave, Ellery, I won’t stop you. Ruan can take you with him when he returns to Plymouth.”
His words were choppy. Bitten off. The voice Conor’s, but not. Was it a trick? She couldn’t stay under here forever. And Conor wasn’t leaving soon by the sounds of him. He had her cornered. And he knew it. Better to face a danger and get it over with for good or bad.
She crawled out of her hiding place, straightening to face her lover or her executioner. The next few moments would tell.
It was Conor. He sat on the stile, his face lost in darkness, but the heat of him palpable.
She wrapped her humiliation and her rage around her like a blanket. She’d not be made a fool of again. “Don’t ever try your spells on me. I’m not some simple-minded farmer you can charm into submission.”
“No. Not simple-minded. Mule-headed. Blind-lucky, perhaps.” He paused. “Shit.”
“So I’m the only thing that can send Asher back,” she asked, hoping she sounded firm. Brave. “Is that why he wants me dead?”
He took a deep breath before answering. “That’s right.” She shuddered, imagining what that moment would have been. Seeing Conor approach. Watching him raise the knife. Her mouth went dry. Still unsure whether to flee, she backed up a step. As if keeping her distance would make it easier. Her eyes adjusting to the dark, Conor’s form emerged from the gloom. And she knew exactly why he’d sounded so odd. So unfamiliar.
Stripped bare to the waist, his body’s already muscled contours seemed heavier, more powerful. The sculpted bones of his face were longer and thicker, hardening the perfection of his features. The magic of the Heller burned flame-bright in his eyes.
Her fingers curled around her knife, even though she wasn’t sure she could actually use it. Not on Conor. But if he left her no choice? And even then, would it matter with his body’s ability to withstand wounds? She closed her eyes, praying she wouldn’t have to find out. “I’ll leave. Run to the Continent or maybe even the Americas.”
“You won’t be safe. The Triad’s power isn’t bounded by borders or oceans. Once Asher recaptures the reliquary, he’ll hunt you down. Destroy you. He’ll do anything he must to secure his future.”
They had come to the crux of the matter. She opened her eyes. He hadn’t moved, but his gaze scalded her with its intensity. Knowing the swooping flips of her stomach weren’t all fear, she had to ask the question on the tip of her tongue, no matter the answer. If she wasn’t Conor’s pawn, anymore, what was she? Really.
“How are you any different from Asher?” she asked. He rested his elbows on his knees, glanced away into the dark. “I wasn’t. Not two years ago at the hillside chapel in Spain. Not two weeks ago when I found you.” He paused, the silence weighty with unspoken shame and disappointment on both sides. “You’re safe from me, Ellery. I’ll not harm you.”
She followed the track of his gaze. Even now, the fog thinned, rolled aside by unseen hands. The trees beyond seemed to crouch, waiting for her to answer him. Did she accept Conor’s assurances and return to the house? Or did she take him up on his offer of Ruan’s protection as far as Plymouth and risk a bid for freedom?
“I’ll take you to Gram. You can stay with her until after…” He faltered. “I don’t know how to convince you.”
“When we—I mean that night—after Simon attacked,” she asked. “Were you planning to kill me then?”
He stiffened, his body almost rearing off the step. She jerked away.
He caught himself, settled back. “No,” he said, leaving it at that. “Not then.” He held out a hand, palm up and open, waiting for her to decide. “Trust me?”
She wavered, wishing with all her heart that she could simply place her hand in his and everything would be perfect. Her faith intact.
Her eyes burned; her face felt tight. She tilted her chin up in defiance of her weakness.
His voice when it came was barely above a whisper. “Ellery?”
One word. Three syllables, but they broke her heart.
“Morgan.” Ruan’s call shattered the silence like an explosion. “I’ve found them.”
Conor wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or relieved. All he knew was he couldn’t take Ellery’s devastated look of betrayal much longer. It made him want to scream at her. Shake her until she forgave him. Instead, he sat. Silently. Uncaring. Emotionless.
It didn’t hurt so much that way.
He shivered as the magic of the Heller drained away, a frozen emptiness replacing the wolf’s heat. He was no longer two beings caught within one shell. His mind, his body, and his misery were his alone.
His cousin stepped out of the trees, his lantern throwing darkling shadows over his face. He swung the light from Ellery to Conor, his eyes widening a fraction as he took note of Conor’s condition. “You had us worried.”
Conor rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I’ve managed to do that a lot lately. I can take care of myself.”
“Since when?” Ruan turned to Ellery, spotted the knife she held. “A good thought should you be attacked by a dinner roll.” Leave it to Ruan to ignore the situation and go straight for charm. He flashed a smile, but Ellery wasn’t biting. Sighing, he tilted his head, studied her. “Are you all right?”
She wasn’t, but Conor knew it wasn’t his place to say. She tossed away the knife, pushed her damp hair off her face. “I’m fine, I think.”
Ruan glanced around. “I’m surprised we found you. It’s dark as a coal scuttle out here. The others are waiting back at the house.” His gaze flashed from one to the other. “So we should start back?” He made a move to leave. “Perhaps?” He shrugged. “Anyone coming with the man carrying the lantern, or do you two want to stumble about in the dark?”
“You take Ellery back. I’ll be along.”
She gnawed her lower lip, mistrust swirling in her blue eyes, her bundle clutched to her chest like a shield. What the hell would he do if she decided to keep running? Pick her up and carry her like a sack over his shoulder? He’d be damned if he’d let her walk out of here alone and defenseless, no matter what he’d promised. She could hate him all she wanted, but he wasn’t going to let Asher get to her.
The light from Morgan’s lantern splashed yellow light across the grass as she approached through the field. “This is the second time I’ve had to tramp about in the dark looking for the two of you. It’s becoming a bad habit.”
She wore baggy breeches tucked into tall boots and one of Jamys’s cast-off shirts, her hair pulled back in a knot. Her long, loose, ground-eating strides were more suited to a soldier than a young lady of quality, but Morgan had snapped her fingers at Society a long time ago. “Everyone’s worried. I had to threaten Gram to keep her from coming along.” She shot a disgusted look in Conor’s direction. “Men. Of all the chuckle-headed things to do.” To Ellery, she said, “You’re safe with him, you know.”
Whether it was Morgan’s reassuring presence or her words, Ellery relaxed a fraction. Her grip on her bundle loosened, and she no longer looked like she’d bolt if given the chance.
“I don’t know what Conor told you, but it’s dangerous beyond the protection of Daggerfell. If it’s true that you’re…” she paused, flustered, “if Asher is searching for you, then you’re better off here.”
“Conor did tell me that—finally,” Ellery answered, her voice hard and sharp-edged as glass.
“Well, that’s something then.” She motioned for Ellery to follow. “Come on. We can commiserate over the stupidity of the male species as we walk.” She rolled her eyes. “I could go on all night.”
Ellery gave a shuddering breath, misery and anger bright in her dry eyes. “Let’s go. I’m tired.”
Conor relaxed the breath he’d been holding. Ellery was furious, but she wasn’t foolish.
The women moved off, Morgan’s lantern lighting the way. Ruan hesitated. “Conor?
Are you coming?”
“Go. I’ve things to do.”
Ruan shook his head. “She’ll get over it in time. You know women. Emotional. High strung.”
“Right.”
“You just wait. A week or two, and this will all blow over.”
“It’s best this way. She’s better off. I’m better off.” When Ruan acted unsure whether to leave, Conor threw him a hell-fire grin. “But it was damn good while it lasted.”
Ruan answered with a shaky laugh, but the sober light in his dark eyes told Conor his cousin knew what he was trying to do. He nodded. “Come when you’re ready.”
Left alone, the night was his.
He looked up at the moon, bloody and orange as it rose through the branches.
Funny, but he’d wanted all along to keep his distance from Ellery. Had held the crush of feelings locked inside. Had fought the need to touch her, hold her, stamp her as his own. Tonight, he’d finally gotten his wish. She despised him and—what twisted the blade deeper still—she feared him.
There was no future with her. Even when she lay in the crook of his arm, the curve of her cheek soft against his skin, her breath warm and even as she slept, he’d known there was nowhere to go from there. He’d shed that part of him when he’d taken up the life of the amhas-draoi.
He loved the thrill and the rush of excitement that came with every use of his power. He scorned anyone who suggested another way. Mocked anyone who told him he might find equal pleasure in a family, a home.
If he survived the coming days, he’d go on alone. And if he didn’t?
He slipped off the stile. Melted into the trees, leaving the question hanging on a breeze.
He’d have his answer either way in a week.
The house stood glowing and warm, the lighted, comfortable rooms shooting a new pain into Ellery’s heart. This was a home. This was a family. It was everything she’d always wanted. Everything she’d never had. Seeing the concern and love that passed between the Blighs ripped open a longing she’d thought she’d put behind her when she’d left the army’s tail and stitched together a life of her own here in England.
Only in these last few days had she begun to imagine a life like this. Starting a family of her own. Starting a life with someone who loved her, not because she could darn a sock or cook a meal, not falsely out of penury and need. But because he loved what and who she was. Because he could dream and hope and imagine a life, too.
By the time she’d returned with Morgan and Ruan, she’d been convinced the others had truly not known what Conor had planned. Either that or the entire family should have gone on the stage. She’d stood by as Jamys had apologized and Mikhal had explained. She’d not resisted when Niamh and Lowenna had hustled her into a hot bath and a linen nightgown. She’d even nodded as they comforted and sympathized, and accepted their tea with steady hands. But the words passed through her, barely registering above the din of her own screaming thoughts. Only the worry and fear in their eyes cracked the wall of numb she’d built around herself to keep the hurt at bay.
Conor’s mother left after a time, perhaps sensing that all Ellery wanted was to be alone for a long fit of weeping and self-pity. But his grandmother wasn’t so perceptive. Or perhaps she didn’t care.
She sat at the edge of Ellery’s bed, her gaze as impenetrable as the fog had been. “What Conor did was done out of fear, not malice.”
Ellery drew her knees up, wrapped her arms around them as she looked to the window. “Fear that I would run, you mean.”
“No,” Lowenna snapped. “Fear of falling in love with you.” There was that word again. How could Lowenna equate Conor’s actions with anything close to love? Deception. Betrayal. These were better suited. She blinked to hold back tears desperate to flow. “He sought me out, lied to me. All for one purpose.” Swiping a hand across her face, she forced the pain back below the surface. “He would have killed me,” she murmured.
Lowenna gave a slow nod
of her head. “As he was, he might well have done so and excused it as necessary.” She smoothed a hand over the blankets. Caught Ellery’s wrist, making her meet her gaze. Silver gray and stern as winter, it was impossible to look away. “All that has changed since his return home. Being Other is a treacherous road, and few know the temptations of the fey as well as I. Conor was gifted at birth with great abilities and promise, but only one person truly held his heart. Ysbel’s murder unlocked his viciousness and a ruthless power. It forced him to acknowledge the ease with which he could become Asher’s equal in both magic—and cruelty. He struggles still.” The brilliance of Lowenna’s eyes, the gravity of her words pierced Ellery to her core, that small part of her that yearned for Conor even when the rest of her wanted him drawn and quartered.
“What has that to do with me?” she grudged.
Conor’s grandmother offered her a warm smile and a motherly pat on the cheek. “You can do what all of us here cannot. You can keep Conor from following that path into a darkness that will consume him in the end.” Her wrinkled cheeks dimpled. “You must hold his heart now, dear.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Glynnis’s funeral lasted only the time it took to place her in the family crypt, an aged priest performing the ceremony in a high, wheezy voice that set Ellery’s teeth on edge. Low clouds threatened rain, and a damp, foul wind blew steadily from the south, hissing through the loose stones of the tomb, whipping the priest’s black cassock into bat’s wings. Next to her, Morgan straightened her hat, muttering something under her breath about spriggan mischief.
Ellery stood between Morgan and Lowenna, hands locked together in prayer and her gaze centered on the patch of grass at her feet. Not due to any spiritual reverence. She’d decided long ago that if God did exist, he spent little time worried over the problems of men. But because that way, she didn’t have to look in Conor’s direction or acknowledge his existence. It was petty, but she couldn’t trust herself. She was still mad as hell.
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