Wicked Exile (An Exile Novel Book 2)

by K. J. Jackson

  The slightest sliver opened along the door and an orangey glow appeared.

  Nighttime. Candles.

  Even though the light was low, her pupils revolted, pain shooting through them as her eyes closed tight against the intrusion.

  It took her two full breaths before she could force her eyelids open again.

  The door opened further, a figure holding a lantern moving toward her. She needed to yell, scream for help. Her mouth opened, her lips cracking at the force, instant blood dripping onto her chin. A breath and she screamed.

  Only air. A tongue that couldn’t make sound. Air that wouldn’t vibrate in her throat. Only silence making it past her lips.

  Boots, trousers flashed behind the lantern, moving toward her. A man, but she couldn’t see his torso or face for the angle of the light in front of him, the offense of the flame burning into her eyes.

  She craned her neck, lifting her head from the stone floor, searching for a face above the light.

  Gilroy.

  Her breath choked in her throat, her heart sinking deep in her chest. Instinctively, her body curled up onto itself, her legs dragging through the dirt of the stone floor.

  She was done.

  “Where is Ness?” The hiss of Gilroy’s voice cut into her ears, slicing into her brain. Loud. So loud. The echo of the words bounced about the inside of her head, searing.

  She pulled her knees into her chest, wrapping her arms about her bent legs. Her face tucked into her knees, hiding. If she didn’t look at him, if she didn’t acknowledge him, he would end it.

  End it for good.

  Better that than the slow death she’d been suffering.

  “I’m going to ask one last time.” Gilroy’s voice was closer, like he’d bent down to her, his voice thundering in her ear. “Where is Ness?”

  She pulled harder into herself, her forehead pressing into her knees, refusing to look at him.

  His hand jabbed into the back of her head, gripping a clump of her hair and he jerked her head back, her cheek scraping across the floor.

  The lantern was set onto the floor next to him and his nose came at her face. “I’ll see your eyes when I slide this blade into you—ye little whore. You won’t tell me where she is, then I have no use for you.”

  He pulled away slightly as his fingers tightened into the mess of her locks, ripping hair from her scalp. A length of silver flashed in the glow of the candle, the tip of it coming slowly at her.

  “I’ll gut you slowly, though, so ye might change your mind. If not, at least I see the life drain away from your eyes.”

  He yanked her across the floor by her hair until her body was splayed long and straight, the iron clamp on her foot stopping the motion and digging into the raw, bloody skin about her ankle. And then she felt it, the tip of the dagger digging through the cloth between her breasts, threads snapping.

  She gasped a breath, her arms flying up, trying to catch his arm and push the blade away from her. Her fingers not able to bend, her arms flopped about, not listening to instructions from her brain. Days ago, she could have done it. Could have fought him, maybe even stopped him. Not now.

  Now she was weak. Each strike she made on his arm the bite of a gnat.

  The blade reached skin on her chest and she exhaled all her breath, trying to sink her lungs into the floor and away from the knife.

  Even as her body still fought it, her mind slowed. Let it happen.

  Let it happen and it would be over. All the pain. All the fight. Soon enough, it would be over.

  The last thing she wanted to see before it was done was Evan. Only Evan.

  With calm acceptance about what was to come, she opened her eyes, looking past Gilroy’s head. He was only a blur now because standing above him, his legs straddling hers, was Evan. Huge and ferocious and exactly as she wanted him as she breathed her last breath.

  Going mad had its benefits.

  Her focus stayed on him and him alone as the tip of the knife punctured down into her skin. Pain no longer a concern, a smile came to her face. She could go like this. As long as Evan was with her.

  But then he moved.

  A fist swinging wide and slamming into Gilroy’s face, sending him backward, the knife flying through the air.

  She blinked, her mind not working fast enough.

  How had Evan done that?

  He was an apparition. How in the hell had he done that?

  He lunged to her left, out of her view.

  A crash of bodies. A scream.

  Her head flopped to the left.

  No, that was two men scuffling in the dirt. Rolling. Gilroy on top. Not an aberration.

  “Ye slimy bastard—ye double crossed me.” Gilroy swung the dagger down at Evan, rage at his lips.

  No. No. No.

  Her mouth opened as she pushed herself upright, the scream silent. That knife needed to be in her. Not Evan.

  Evan caught Gilroy’s arm, stopping the knife an inch from his eye. “I don’t trust ye,” Evan’s voice roared, filling the room. “That is different. And I’ve finally seen the truth of you. The truth I should have known my whole life, but was too blind to see.”

  The tip of the blade dangling above Evan’s face, Gilroy’s left hand went onto the butt of the knife and he pressed down with all his weight, a vicious growl screeching from his lips.

  The tip of the blade dipped a speck closer to Evan’s eye and then jerked up as Evan crashed a fist into Gilroy’s chest, sending him flailing.

  “Should’ve chosen a damn arrow, brother.” Evan scrambled to his feet.

  Too late.

  Avoiding falling onto his back, Gilroy had caught his heel under him and sprang, running out the open door into the dimly lit night, charging into the brick wall just four steps opposite the door and then darting to the right.

  Evan chased him out the door and Juliet could hear the thunder of boots running up wooden stairs that had to be positioned between the buildings. Gilroy’s. Evan’s.

  Juliet tugged at the chain around her ankle, dragging herself toward the door.

  The clunking of boots stopped.

  “Live with this, brother.” Gilroy’s shout, cold and merciless, echoed down to her.

  And then the sudden flash of a body dropping…hitting the stone ground just outside the door.

  Her head shook, her sight blurring.

  No—no—no. Not Evan.

  A scream stuck in her throat, unable to escape. Her mind went numb, refusing to comprehend the flames of hell licking at her, consuming her.

  More boots clunking on stairs. Landing, running to the body on the ground. Bending over it.

  Big, filling the height of the doorway. Wide shoulders.

  Evan.

  Dropping to his knees, Evan knelt over the body, his shoulders curling over, his head burying into his hands.

  Gilroy dead.

  The last of her strength gone, Juliet collapsed onto the stone floor, her temple balanced on the back of her hand as she watched Evan’s shoulders shake.

  He would hate her now. His brother dead because of her.

  Hell, he already hated her.

  She’d betrayed him. Left him.

  Anything she’d told herself differently in the last days had been desperate lies in an attempt to keep her sanity.

  His instant grief at Gilroy’s death proved that fact.

  He hated her.

  It was time to give up.

  { Chapter 31 }

  “Hold on, stay with me, Juliet. Stay with me.” His voice cracked, desperate, unrecognizable to his own ears as he'd grabbed her face. Couldn't wake her. “Hell, don’t leave me now. Stay with me.” Evan’s mind couldn’t pull away from the terror that had seized him hours ago, his own words still echoing in his ears.

  His feet shifted, impatient, in the hallway of his Edinburgh townhouse as he leaned against the wall. But his eyes stayed closed, his thoughts refusing to shift to the present, his face wincing as the clank of his blade hitting
link after link in the chain that locked Juliet to the stone floor still rang in his ears. She’d been slipping away. Away. Her breath shallow. Her eyes not opening to him. There, the weak link. His body straining, muscles popping as he’d wedged the link open, freeing her.

  “My lord?” Dr. Langtree’s voice echoed into the hallway.

  Evan’s eyes popped open and he pushed himself away from the wall. His arms clasped across his chest throbbed for how tight they’d been wrapped together. He shook his arms at his sides and looked to the physician, moving as much into the present as the horror that had just terrorized his mind allowed. “What took you so long?”

  “Clothes. It’s the middle of the night.”

  A clunk followed by a crash and glass shattering came from the other side of the door next to Evan.

  Shit.

  Evan’s look left the physician and he charged into the room, his eyes not adjusting to the dark quickly enough.

  Empty bed. There. In the sliver of light from the hallway, the broken side table and shattered glass, and in the middle of it, a heaping mess of body and limbs. Blast.

  Glass crunching underfoot, Evan rushed over to the curled-up form of Juliet and picked her straight up off the floor as delicately as he could so broken glass wouldn’t embed into her skin.

  “Juliet—what happened?” He set her bottom onto the bed, stretching her legs out from their tight bend.

  Her eyes opened wide and she found his face, her withered lips cracking open. “Alone…dark…” The words barely squeaked out of her throat, the sound strangled to near nothing. “I thought…”

  “You thought ye were still in that prison of a room?”

  She nodded, her body sagging against his hold on her back.

  Rage tore at his throat, threatening to send a growl into the room. But no.

  She didn’t need growls. She needed a thousand other things in this moment.

  Not his rage. Not the idiotic words that always came out of his damn mouth.

  He cleared his throat, gently settling her body long onto the bed. “You’re not in there anymore—I haven’t had time to make a fire. I was getting the physician. He’s here now and needs to look at you. But first, where is Ness? Is she in danger? Did Gil find the both of you?”

  Her head flopped back and forth, her words a whisper that cut in and out. “No, no, Ness is safe.”

  He exhaled his held breath. If Gilroy had found Ness and hurt her—or worse, killed her—he would never forgive himself.

  Evan turned around and waved the physician into the room through the open doorway. He stepped away from the bed, his boots crunching on broken glass as the physician took his spot next to Juliet.

  Dr. Langtree set his fingers along Juliet’s forehead, then along her neck.

  Evan froze, staring at the man’s fingers. It’s where his blasted fingers should be. His touch on Juliet, not the doctor’s.

  Dr. Langtree looked over his shoulder at Evan. “I’ll need a lamp.”

  Evan nodded. “I’ll get the fire started. Lots of light.”

  He dodged out into the hallway, walking toward the lamp that sat on a short table at the end of the hall.

  Lots of light? That was the best he could utter? He’d seen the hovel she’d been chained into by his brother’s hand. And that was all he could offer? Lots of light?

  What he needed to do was crawl into bed with her and sink her body deep within his hold, never to let her go again, never let another harm her again.

  Not that she would want him after what Gilroy did to her—what he let happen to her because he was too damn stubborn to see what was right in front of him.

  The evil that he’d always suspected was in his brother but refused to acknowledge.

  Offering light would have to do.

  He grabbed the lamp and then looked over the railing down into the main foyer and whistled. Brooks appeared two levels below, his hands behind his back and looking up at Evan.

  “I need a maid to clean up broken glass and water. And send up tea. And broth.”

  Brooks nodded. “I’ll send the maid and the tea up directly, my lord.”

  Evan returned to the room and set the lamp onto the side table on the opposite side of the bed from where Juliet had fallen.

  He kept his eyes averted as the physician poked and prodded Juliet’s body. He didn’t want to watch her face flicker in pain. Look at the blood marring her lips, her cheeks.

  His stomach churned. He hadn’t even had time to clean her face.

  He was miserable at this. Taking care of her. Keeping her safe.

  His gaze taking the coward’s way out, he turned to the fireplace and started stacking logs. He’d lit the fire, working on it to catch to healthy flames when the maid arrived balancing a tray of tea and broth. She set it on the small round table in the room and quickly started cleaning the mess of shattered glass and china that had been sitting on the side table.

  The flames flickering ever higher in front of him, Evan sat on his heels, keeping busy with the fire long after the maid had left the room. He didn’t look up until the physician appeared next to him. “My lord, a word.”

  Evan drew himself to his full height and looked down at the physician, his open palm ushering the man out the door. With the shortest glance at Juliet, he noted her eyes were closed and he stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door halfway closed behind him.

  “How is she?”

  “She doesn’t need a surgeon. All her bones seem to be intact. She’s bruised and scraped and the knife that had gone into her chest—”

  “The knife had gone into her chest?”

  “Yes, you did not see the blood?”

  Evan’s arm swung to the side, sending his fist into the wall beside the door. Plaster crumbled.

  A damn blade in her chest.

  All he’d seen was a blinding, raging red when he’d found Gilroy over her with a knife aimed at her body. He hadn’t seen it actually cut her, he’d been so consumed with fury.

  “Sir, as I was saying…” Dr. Langtree’s countenance didn’t change at Evan’s outburst. “The blade did not have a chance to sink too deeply into her skin. Clean the area with the whisky you keep about here and it should heal fine without stitches. As it is a delicate area, I assume I can leave that task with you?”

  Evan nodded, rubbing his now bloody knuckles. “So she is fine?”

  “Not entirely. She’s clearly gone for a long stretch without food or water. Her face and skin have already turned grey. You need to get liquids—any and all kinds into her as quickly as possible. She will have trouble swallowing. And she’s rather confused about where she is at the moment. The confusion will continue until her body can absorb some of the liquid. And keep her warm.”

  Evan exhaled relief. “Thank you.”

  Dr. Langtree patted the side of his upper arm. “You know where to find me if she needs more help.”

  “Aye.”

  Dr. Langtree moved down the stairs and let himself out the front door of the townhouse.

  Evan drew a deep breath, steeling himself before going back into the room.

  No more cowardice. Even if Juliet hated him now—and rightfully so.

  He’d been the one to let this happen to her. To let Gilroy get near her. He’d been the one to not listen to her when she was begging him for his help.

  She saw exactly what his brother was and he’d refused to believe her.

  There was no way around it. She hated him.

  The only thing he could do now was help her recover and then let her go.

  ~~~

  She’d muttered nonsensical words most of the night. She’d slept, but it’d been sleep that tossed and turned her body in the bed every few minutes.

  Evan watched it all, his eyes never getting drowsy. Even the heat in the room hadn’t dimmed his eyelids.

  Dr. Langtree said to keep Juliet warm, so he’d had a healthy blaze roaring all night long. He doubted he’d ever be able to sleep in her p
resence again. Doubted he’d ever trust that she wouldn’t disappear on him, when disappearing on him was exactly what he deserved.

  He had managed to get broth down her throat three times during the night, her eyelids fluttering halfway between sleep and awake, but never fully opening to him.

  In the morning light streaming in from the parted curtains, her face looked much better now that he’d dabbed away the streaks of blood from her face and lips. Though her lips were still cracked, he’d set the wet cloth to them enough times that they’d almost plumped up to normal.

  She twisted in the bed and her face contorted in a twisted grimace. That wasn’t right. He’d washed the filth and blood from every spot of her body while she’d slept, and set a clean chemise on her, and he hadn’t found any more obvious injuries.

  He jumped up from his seat, setting his hand along her neck, trying to ease the pain on her face as he woke her. “Juliet, you are injured—where—tell me. Tell me so I can get the physician back here.”

  Her eyes opened to him, her focus going from hazy to clear as she found his face. She stared at him for a long moment and he wasn’t sure if she truly saw him or saw whatever was in her mind.

  Her hand moved up, grabbing his wrist. Weak. Too weak for the strength he knew she possessed. “Dark, it was dark. Too dark. Every day…all I could see was you in the dark.” She heaved a breath that sent her chest lifting. “Reaching for me but never able to touch me.”

  Full words that weren’t strangled to silence from the lack of moisture on her tongue. His heart nearly exploded in his chest.

  He smoothed the hair away from her brow. “Don’t think on that—not now. You’re safe now. In the light. Go back to sleep.”

  She did. And he kept pouring tea and broth down her throat every hour.

  It wasn’t until just before dusk that she fully woke, her blue eyes opening to him, clear and bright as morning dew.

  “You’re awake.” He sat up in his chair, leaning toward her as he studied her face. He shifted forward, grabbing a cup of tepid tea and pressing it to her lips.

  She took several sips, her jaw working back and forth as the liquid made it down her throat. “I am.”