by Hall, Linsey
The angry light had begun to fade from her eyes as a hint of understanding crept in. Dread followed. Good. Horror was the only thing that had made him learn.
“I discussed it with his guardian and we decided to tell him our suspicions. He took to it like a fly to trash. And why would he no’? Reborn as a savior to the masses. What’s no’ to like? He strolled right into the worst of Old Town, down into the depths of Mary King’s Close, where the most direly ill were put.”
Her eyes widened as she waited, lips just slightly parted in horrified anticipation.
“Dead a week later.”
She blanched, but he could tell she’d expected it. “Maybe he did help.”
“With what? He had no magic, no antibiotics. Nay, it was meant to run its course without us.”
“Then what was he reborn to do?”
He laughed bitterly. “A couple of months later, a portal was created from an afterworld whose name we’d long forgotten. The university was attacked by demons. Poison arrows took a dozen of our men and women, some of our most powerful Mytheans. Mytheans with potential for the future. But no one recognized the poison, and within twenty-four hours, they were dead. Our reincarnate? He was an herbalist in his new life, a growing science at the time. Mortal, but gifted in his work. He was reborn to heal, aye, but not with skills from his past life.”
Esha tipped her head back and squeezed her eyes tight. “Damn it.”
Frustration surged through his veins as well, every time he thought of that awful year. He wanted to kiss her, to bury that pain and frustration deep inside once more and think only of the feeling of her against him.
Instead, he started counting backward in his head.
“Say I agree with you.” Her words stopped him at sixty-two. “How long would we wait before deciding to tell her?”
“As long as it takes,” he said. “I’ll call her guardian and warn him of this. Immediately. But we won’t interfere. We canna. Can I trust you no’ to jump on this too soon?”
She frowned at him, but eventually nodded. Whether or not he believed her, he wasn’t sure.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The moon was barely peeking through the clouds when the ferry finally docked at the Isle of Mull. Their car had been the only one, for which Cadan was grateful. They saw no living beings as they drove along the empty roads, save for another group of sheep huddled on the pavement to soak up the remaining heat from the day, their eyes reflecting an eerie green in the shine of the car’s headlights.
“We’ve been on Mull for ages. Are we getting close to your house?” They were the first words Diana had spoken in hours.
“Aye. There’s a left turn, about a mile up. My home is at the end of it. No one can see the road unless they know it’s there.” He squinted out of the window. Were there figures in the middle of the road? They looked to be about half a mile ahead, two of them standing in the middle of the pavement, like they were waiting for something.
Waiting for them.
“You do like your privacy, don’t—” She leaned forward to peer out the window at the figures. “What—what are they doing?”
“Waiting for us. Must know where I live, but they canna get past the barriers that protect my house. I’ve got to deal with them or they’ll lurk out here until they get you. And mortals use this road. We canna have demons hanging out on it.”
Her head whipped toward him, face stark. The dark landscape flashed by, barely discernible mountains rolling past like ocean waves. It was too late to slow down and stop far enough from them, so he barreled toward them. They scattered and he pulled to a stop thirty yards ahead.
“Lock the doors. The car’s reinforced, so they canna get in. If something happens to me, my house is the next left. Go there. Dial two on any phone and it will direct you to the university.”
“But—”
“Stay here,” Cadan said as he leapt from the driver’s seat.
Diana’s stomach dropped to her feet when Cadan’s car door slammed. She twisted to watch him lope toward a body lying prone on the ground, his hand gripping a sword that he must have grabbed from the floor of the car.
A demon stood in the road, the other one missing. Cadan reached it and their swords clashed. She flinched when Cadan’s blade cut through the demon’s forearm and it dropped to the ground.
Gone was the man who’d held her after her nightmare, and in his place stood a warrior, aggressive and terrifyingly beautiful.
There was one more demon out there. But where? Was it lurking in the shadows?
Don’t be such a coward—get out and help him.
But her limbs were frozen in place. How was she ever supposed to accomplish some great task if she couldn’t even get out of the car to try?
Diana squinted into the night. There, she was almost sure. A figure was approaching Cadan from behind. But he didn’t see the demon.
Turn around. Please, please, turn around. But he wouldn’t.
Protectiveness surged within her. Was there another weapon in the car? She glanced around frantically. There. A small sword lay on the floorboard. She reached for it, but jerked her hand back at the last second.
She glanced up to see Cadan wiping his sword on the dead demon’s clothes, seemingly unaware of the figure at his back. She started to call out, but Cadan whirled around. She swore she could hear the clang of weapons as they clashed.
Cadan was fast, but his opponent had an incredibly long reach. Just as the demon’s sword carved a deep slice across Cadan’s chest, two other demons crept out from behind a cluster of bushes.
Shit. They’d been hiding. And Cadan was wounded and outnumbered. Diana sucked in a breath and reached to grab the sword out of the back seat. It felt natural in her hands. Too natural for someone who’d never held a sword, but she wouldn’t worry about it now. She’d use it instead.
The unnatural confidence the sword gave her helped to propel her out of the car. Despite the yawning chasm of fear in her stomach, she had to do this. To take control of her destiny before it spun out of her hands. She couldn’t leave Cadan alone to fight them, just watching like a stupid sheep.
Diana yanked the blade out of its leather sheath, the hilt heavy and hard in her hand, and ran toward the two demons that were nearly upon Cadan, who still fought off the other demon.
“Hey, over here,” she shouted, hoping to distract it.
They glanced at her, dismissed her, and continued toward Cadan.
Oh hell, what have I done?
Apparently, nothing. It pissed her off. She cursed, then ran up to the demon closest to her. At the sound of her footsteps, it spun around. She swung her sword, the motion more graceful than it should have been, and carved a gash in the demon’s arm. The harsh, birdlike features twisted as the demon screamed. It withdrew a long knife from a sheath at its side and they clashed, steel ringing.
With her sword now in motion, instinct took over and that otherworldly sense of purpose and knowledge rushed through her. As she swung the sword, she was herself, but not. Three swipes and two jabs later, the demon was dead at her feet, long black hair spread over the pavement.
Diana stood, her mouth agape, and stared at the body. She’d just done that. She’d killed her second demon and all she had to show for it was a shallow cut on her forearm. Again, it had felt a little like her body had taken control of her mind and accomplished the deed, but she’d done it.
She shook away the shock at her success and ran for Cadan. By the time she reached him, Cadan was beheading the smaller demon. But while his arm was outstretched, the larger assailant managed to sink its sword into Cadan’s side and twist the blade.
Covered in blood from a dozen wounds, Cadan turned on the demon and sank his blade straight through its neck. The figure crumpled, and with a quick jerk of his sword, the head was nearly severed from the body.
Cadan fell to his knees. He swayed, but didn’t collapse. She ran to him, felt the gravel bite into her knees as she fell to his side on the
wet road, and reached out to brush his hair off his face.
“Cadan, come on, you have to get up.” He groaned and opened his eyes. She glanced down at his body and gasped. The wounds were terrible—slices all over his torso and legs that were seeping blood. The last stab wound just blended in with the rest. “We have to go. What if there are more of them?”
“Go on, lassie...to the house. I’ll be fine...I’ll follow.” He coughed.
“No, I’m not leaving you.” She already hated herself for cowering in the car. She wasn’t going to leave him here when clearly he couldn’t walk.
“Go, Diana.”
She ignored him and raced across the wet pavement to the car. The door handle was slick beneath her trembling hands, but she finally managed to yank it open and get the car started. After a brief prayer that she’d be able to operate a car with a steering wheel on the wrong side, she revved it into reverse and backed up close to the spot where he lay. She scrambled out of the car and struggled to help him up.
“Come on, you have to get up so we can go to the hospital.” Could there possibly be a hospital on this small island? Was the ferry still running?
“No hospital.” He clenched his teeth, his face twisted with pain. “I’ll heal.”
He’d heal? Magically? That was something she didn’t want to ponder, not now.
He pushed himself up, and between the two of them, they managed to get him into the back seat. Then she hurled herself into the driver’s seat and took off, foot pressed hard on the gas. Squinting, she peered out the windshield and tried to make out the road that was supposed to be ahead. Left turn, left turn. Where was it?
There. A small road, nothing more than a dirt path, shimmered in the wet grass. The temperamental moon provided barely enough light to see it. She pulled the wheel left and the tires spun on the gravel.
The drive went on forever, gradually leading up toward the sea, until a large stone manor house appeared. The land just beyond it dropped off abruptly. The house sat on a cliff. She got the impression of a sprawling old building with as many secrets as its master.
She pulled up to the front steps and climbed out of the car. With shaking hands, she yanked the car door open.
“Cadan?” He was slumped in the seat, but he looked up at the sound of her voice. “Come on, I’ll help you up. We need to get inside.”
She glanced around her at the land surrounding the house, grateful to see no ominous figures stalking the night. Just tree branches whipping in the wind. He groaned as he climbed out of the car, but was already moving a bit more easily.
“I’m fine,” he said brusquely, but stumbled.
“You’re not.” Stupid man. She wedged herself under his arm again and led him up the worn stone steps that had been trod upon by countless feet. Or perhaps the same feet, just countless times. She looked up at the man leaning heavily on her.
He seemed to be dragging himself up toward the door. How many times in his long life had he crawled away from battle, barely alive? She was just glad she’d been here to help him this time.
“The key, Cadan, where is it?” She patted at his pockets, desperate to get both of them to safety behind closed doors.
“Doona need it.” His voice was breathless with pain.
He leaned against one of the wide wooden doors and it swung open slowly, silently. Clearly, either no one would dare enter his home uninvited, or it was hidden by magic.
The foyer within was high ceilinged and dark. She led him across the wooden floor toward the wide stairway.
“Where’s your bed? Is anyone else here?”
“Upstairs, left.” He stopped to draw a ragged breath. “And nay.”
They stumbled up the stairs together, his weight feeling like Sisyphus’s boulder on her shoulder. He nodded toward a doorway at the end of the hall, and they staggered through it. As they passed over the threshold she stuck her hand out, hoping to find a light switch. Sheer luck led her fingers to it quickly, and she flipped it on. Windows covered one wall that would probably look out to the sea, and against the adjacent wall sat a large four-poster bed.
She steered Cadan toward it and he collapsed onto the bed, groaning heavily as he settled onto the comforter. Soft, dark cloth covered a sea of mattress set into a heavy wooden frame.
“Cadan, listen to me. Do you have any medical supplies? Extra towels?” The idea of stitching his wounds made her stomach heave, but some of them were deep and miserable. “You need stitches.”
“Bathroom. No stitches. I’ll heal.”
Relief rushed through her. No sewing through flesh today, thank God. But she could still help him, so she turned, scanning the different doors that led from the room, looking for a bathroom. One, near the wall of windows, looked like the most likely candidate.
Inside, she found a large, modern bathroom. After rifling through the cabinets, she found a box of medical supplies and a large bowl beneath the sink and dragged them out. She filled the bowl with water and grabbed some towels. Arms loaded, she headed into the bedroom.
Most of the color had faded from his skin and his paleness stood out starkly against the dark bedspread. Closer inspection revealed that Cadan had drifted into an uneasy sleep, and though he was breathing evenly, his face was tense.
She dipped a cloth into the bowl of water and ran it over his face. It grated roughly over the stubble of his beard, but she managed to remove most of the sweat and blood. Cleaned of it, his features were strong and symmetrical. Handsome, there was no other way to put it.
Diana blew out a breath. She needed to quit ogling. But it was hard, particularly when the man had leapt out of the car to defend her and had received these injuries on her behalf. He’d been so fierce. He’d protect her with his life, but push her away because it was against the rules. He wouldn’t kiss her, not once he remembered that he shouldn’t, and he wouldn’t give her any clues about her identity.
But then, she understood about following rules.
She sighed, then reached into the First Aid kit and withdrew a pair of shears. Carefully, she cut away his tattered and blood-soaked shirt. She bit her lip as she spread it open to reveal his wounds, wincing when it stuck to dried blood.
His sculpted chest was coated in streaks of sweat and crimson, cuts and gashes marring the otherwise flawless skin. As she ran the towel over his chest, she felt each swell of muscle beneath the wet cloth. She wiped blood from the slowly weeping wounds, some of which appeared to be knitting together in front of her eyes.
With the speed that he was recovering, she’d probably just have to put a few of the large butterfly bandages on the more serious gashes. The plastic backs peeled off easily and she put three over the largest wound under his right pectoral muscle, stroking the undamaged skin for a little too long.
Cadan’s hand closed over her wrist in an iron grip. Diana jumped, barely suppressing a scream. He glared at her, shadows haunting his eyes.
“What’re you doing?” he said through gritted teeth.
“I’m trying—” She winced as his grip tightened. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Doona need your help.” Cadan’s voice was harsh and dark with pain. His gaze dropped to her wrist. Scowling, he removed his hand and sat up. “Leave me alone, I doona want your help.”
“Fine.” She rose to leave.
“There’s a bedroom across the hall.” He gestured to the door as he limped around his bed and headed toward the windows. “You can sleep there, but leave the door open. There’s a spell on this house that makes it invisible to most who pass by, but better safe than sorry.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Vivienne Lawrence accepted the last test from a grinning student. All the others had left within the last fifteen minutes, but this smiling girl who’d sat in the front row was the last to turn hers in.
“Good?” Vivienne asked.
“Great.” The girl’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. She turned and headed back to her desk to grab her bag. On her way out of t
he classroom she asked, “When will Dr. Laughton be back?”
Vivienne tried to play it cool. “Next week, I think. She’s a little under the weather.”
“Cool. ’Night.”
Vivienne stacked the tests and idly watched the girl walk out of the classroom that Diana’s department used for Intro to Medieval History. She’d only covered Diana’s classes for a few days, so she didn’t really know the student, but she knew her type. Sat front row, smart, dedicated, and always turned the test in last because she always had something extra to say on the essay portions.
Vivienne had been that girl. Diana as well, probably. Most archaeology and history professors had been that girl. Vivienne had always been clever, but in truth, it had been her work ethic and sense of urgency that put her ahead of her colleagues.
She tucked the tests in her bag, then reached for her laptop to close it. She’d been analyzing remote sensing data from her last field project in Egypt and she was just flying through it. Normally she struggled with learning a new program for analyzing data, but this one had been a breeze. Her colleagues had been complaining about the interface all summer as they’d gathered the data, but for some reason Vivienne was having no problems.
It was the weirdest thing, but she was reading exponentially faster, too. And grading tests faster. She was just getting smarter in general. She’d considered talking to Diana about it, especially with all the crazy stuff that had been happening to her friend. But she was just too scared. What if she had a tumor? Sure, she was leaping to the worst possible conclusions, but she couldn’t help it. And ignoring it meant that it wasn’t real. Right?
A disgusted sigh escaped her as she tucked the laptop into her bag. She swung the bag onto her shoulder and headed for the door, wondering about Diana. A text from Diana had arrived a couple of days ago. It hadn’t been long, just a note that she was safe.