Eversworn: Daughters of Askara, Book 3 (11 page)

Her eyes widened. “Are you—?”

“I’m fine.” He grunted under the strain of repairing his illusion. Once it snapped into place, he didn’t waste time worrying over how she stared at the sand at his feet instead of his eyes. Had she seen…? He shook his head. It didn’t matter. “Sorry about this.” He kicked the bend of her knee and watched it buckle, heard her panicked gasp as she dropped backwards and hit the sand.

“What are you—?” She tilted her head back, and the betrayal in her eyes made him pause.

“You wanted to do this the hard way.” He tucked her necklace into his pocket and reached down. “Hold my hands.” She grasped his wrists. “Now that your weight is off that foot, I want you to work it in a slow circle. Make some room so the energy flows down and dilutes the sand.”

A raspy chuckle made him stare. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“This is standard legionnaire training.” Talking seemed to take her mind off her predicament, so he kept going. “The recruits from Earth are grass-green and have no idea what they’re facing here. Back home, magic doesn’t exist. Yeah, there’s glamour, but it’s like wearing clothes. All the earthborn Evanti begin learning concealment from birth.” To live among humans, they had to. “But that’s the thing, by making it everyday ordinary, it loses that spark.”

She grunted. “You show them there’s more to glamour than using it as a disguise.”

“Someone has to. It’s dangerous here.” He frowned at her. “Glamour is different here. It’s more because there are different demon breeds and different means of manipulation. Sand traps are perfect teaching tools. They’re more scavenger than predator and easy enough to escape if you keep a level head.” He noticed her foot was free except for her toes and began walking backwards slow and steady. “It’s a good lesson in how magic corrupts its containers, becomes sentient, and how remaining aware means we avoid falling prey to it or more malicious breeds.”

“You don’t care much for the other breeds.” Her breath caught when he pulled too hard.

He had never considered it in those terms, but, “No. I don’t.” His admission gave voice to a creeping suspicion that maybe he wasn’t all that different from the purists who only wanted him for his blood. If he wasn’t denying his disinterest in other breeds, then he was admitting his libido had only sparked for one female whose breed remained a mystery. One he feared solving.

“Hmm.” Isabeau didn’t reply. Her lids were drooping. Not a good sign.

“Hold tight.” One more tug and she pulled free with a hushed groan that sent him stumbling back. His bad leg buckled and he fell. She landed with a grunt on top of him. For a minute, they lay there and caught their breaths. His spine was board straight, and Isabeau was spread eagle across him. The back of her head rested on his crotch while her arms and legs sprawled over his.

Dillon gave up hope of concealing his reaction to her, but before he jabbed her in the neck, he sat up and grasped her shoulders, pushing her upright so she sat between his legs. His efforts were wasted. She slumped against his chest, her head falling back on his shoulder. His cock pressed snug against her ass. The hard part ought to be coming up with an excuse that didn’t involve a flashlight and a front pants pocket, but he barely managed not to rock his hips forward.

“We need to talk.” When she didn’t answer, he turned his face into her hair and inhaled. His nape stung in warning before spines erupted down his neck. Where his hands gripped her shoulders, they contrasted dark against light.
Fuck no
. She gasped. He stuttered. “I can explain.”

Her face turned toward his. Not a gasp, a snore. “Isabeau?” he asked to be certain.

In answer, she buried her nose against his throat. “Hmm?”

“Nothing.” His arms were stiff where he folded them around her waist. He ought to move. No one was immune to the desert heat. Linger here and he’d become as dehydrated as she was. Then they’d be prey for sand traps, raiders or other godforsaken scavengers combing the dunes.

The soft puff of her breath across his neck froze him in place. Her fingers tangled with his, and she made a low moan in the back of her throat. She’d been out here for the better part of a day before he had found her. Sun sickness might have set in, but he’d bet thirst was the culprit.

He glanced around. No horse and no more salt. Enough cubes were shoved down her top to prove she’d been the one to steal them, but where was the rest? The best he could figure was her partner had ditched her and escaped with the bulk of their loot, leaving her with enough evidence to incriminate her. Brought to justice or left to die. Either way, her partner would be free and clear.

All she had were the clothes on her back and a battered locket. Something about it had her fired up and ready to fight him for it. Was it stolen too? It must be more valuable than it looked.

Careful not to jostle Isabeau, Dillon leaned to one side and dug in his pocket. His hand closed over warm metal, and he withdrew the necklace to get a good look at it. It was oval, plain. Scratches marred the cover, and the clasp had seen better days. Spots of bronze shined through where someone or something had rubbed past the silver plate. When he popped open the clasp, a bit of string fell onto the sand. Fumbling, he tried to catch it but missed because his gaze was glued inside the locket, where a miniature portrait of a miniature Isabeau stared back at him.

His same primal core that waked whenever Isabeau was near raged against the implication she belonged to another male. She was his. “No, she isn’t.” Saying the words aloud didn’t help.

On his third attempt, he managed to break from the tiny face staring back at him to see what else she’d kept in there. Part of him hoped this was an heirloom piece. It would explain the wear on the finish. The little girl was Isabeau’s twin, so maybe she was Isabeau when she was a child.

Shaking sand from the string, he realized it wasn’t thread. It was a lock of braided hair. He swallowed. It could still be hers. When he lifted it to his nose and inhaled fresh violets, he knew.

Isabeau had a child.

Did she also have a mate?

His nose pressed against her hair, smelling pears. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” This changed everything. He had hard questions to ask and he better damn well like her answers.

Chapter Seven

Footsteps jarred me from sleep. I jerked upright and groaned as the world spun before my eyes. Darkness enveloped all sides of me but one. Glaring sunlight illuminated a long…tunnel? My eyes watered as I squinted. Blinking my surroundings into focus, I saw rock walls and scattered debris. My hand went to my necklace, and the knot in my chest loosened until the sound of boot hitting stone made my heart skitter. Where was I? The last thing I remembered was the…

“You’re awake. Good.”

I jumped at the sound of Dillon’s voice.

Rays of sun poured over his shoulder, blacking out his face and keeping me from reading his expression. His tone was neutral, his shoulders relaxed. A better reception than I had anticipated.

I shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Where are we?”

“No ‘thanks for saving my life’?” He grunted. “Guess I should have seen that coming.”

Spine straight as I could make it, I said, “I didn’t need your help, but thank you.”

Nodding, he walked until his boot nudged my leg. He squatted and offered me a cool tin. I snatched it from his hands and took one hard gulp before he ripped it from my hand. “What—?”

“Sip nice and slow.” He rocked back on his heels. “If you chug the water, you’ll vomit it right back up and the next batch won’t be nearly as cool or as clean. I promise you that.”

The first sip made my throat quiver. Another sip, then another, until I was gulping fast as the water hit my mouth. Dillon reached for my hand, but it was too late. I’d drunk it all and I heaved.

“Damn it.” He rose and stepped back while I emptied my stomach at his feet. “I told you to take it easy.” Once I finished, he grabbed me around the waist, sending a fresh wave of nausea roiling through my tender stomach, and then carried me to a nearby rock and set me on the edge.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

He glanced up, nodded. “Tilt your head back.”

I did as I was told, and the tunnel spun around me. Before I could complain, more of the same delicious coolness trickled across my parched lips. I opened my mouth, and Dillon poured me a swallow at a time. Enough I was desperate for more, but not enough I gagged or choked.

“That’s enough for now.” Something rough swiped across my mouth, his shirt.

After I processed his words, I lowered my chin and met his gaze. His eyes were my favorite of his features. It was no chore for me to stare into them and wait for him to begin his questions.

After a moment, he rolled his shoulders and reached behind his head. Scratching his neck, he withdrew bloodied fingers. Crouching before me, he wiped at his hands. “We need to talk.”

“What happened?” Sickness cast aside, I rose and circled him. “Why are you bleeding?”

“It’s nothing.” He whirled before I reached his back. “Sit down before you hurt yourself.”

Dodging his arm, I glared up at him. “Did something happen? I didn’t—” Blood drained in an icy rush from my face. I tried again, hating how my voice shook. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No. You didn’t.” His eyes darkened, and I knew he was thinking of those I had hurt.

“Oh.” Cursing my twisted thoughts, I grasped the simplest answer and held tight. “I thought I might have scratched you. You don’t want to risk another bacterial infection from unclean sand in your wound. Losing a leg is one thing, but an aggressive infection near your spine is another.”

He blinked, considering. A roll of his shoulder dismissed the danger.
Stubborn male
.

“You never said where we were.” I rubbed my arms as I peered down the darkened maw.

“Think about it.” He stood at my shoulder and stared too.

The bottom dropped from my stomach. Natural caves were rare, and these walls were far too smooth. Once my eyes adjusted, I saw the torch holders and the empty crates. Scattered tools and a worn bench gave me my answer. My knees buckled. “We’re in the mines, beneath the colony.”

Events from the past two days flashed before my eyes. I’d hurt innocent males, destroyed colony property, lied to those I called friends, all for nothing. I was right back where I’d started from, with no salt, no escape and no hope. I turned slowly. “Why did you bring me down here?”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Isabeau.” His sigh sounded tired. “God knows someone ought to knock some sense into you, but it’s not going to be me. I’ll leave that up to Emma.” He gripped my arms and shoved me toward the bench. “Who is your accomplice? Who put you up to this?”

I landed with a thump but lurched to my feet the second I gained my balance. “N-no one.”

He stalked closer. “We both know that’s a lie.”

Dillon might not want to hurt me, but Roland lacked such mercy in his heart or compassion for my plight. If I gave Dillon his name, Roland would kill the one thing he had I wanted, and he would own me for the rest of my life. Death was too mild a fate. I would suffer for my failures.

“You incapacitated Mason—somehow—and then you used the storm for cover to steal the salt.” He kept coming closer. “I don’t believe for a minute you’d think up something so stupid on your own. You know Harper. You know
me
. You knew even if Emma stepped between us, he would demand justice, and you know I’d mete it out.” He shook his head. “Is it the salt? If that’s it, then you could have asked Harper, and he would have given you enough to see you through.”

Now he’d lost me. “What are you talking about?”

His broad finger tapped the locket between my breasts. The locket I’d been wearing as a bracelet when I’d fainted. Only now it was knotted around my neck. I touched it, knowing without asking that he’d opened it. So he knew. Was that why he had shown mercy to me so far?

“You have a child.” His voice grated. “Are you—?
Damn it
. Are you expecting another?” He took another step, pressed me to the wall. “Is that why you needed the salt?” His breath hit my face, and our noses almost brushed. “You had no reason to steal, but at least I can understand—”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed in his face. “I’m not pregnant.”

His eyes shone, a predator with prey locked in his sights. “Then is the bastard who put you up to this the father of your children?” He punched the wall beside my head. “Was he using your position, the unrest in Askara, to guilt you into stealing from us? Cash in and start a new life in a kingdom far, far away. Did he feed you the line about wanting a better life for you and his kids?”

“No.” My laughter dried in my throat.

“No, he didn’t put you up to it or no, he didn’t use that line. Did he have a better one?”

I pinched my lips closed. Confide in Dillon or confront Roland. I lost either way. “No.”

“Don’t play with me. I promise you won’t like the outcome.” Fisting the front of my shirt, he dragged me precious inches nearer. “Answer me.” His voice lowered. “What kind of male lets his female take all the risks and then leaves her alone in the desert?” He was careful of me. Not gentle, not rough, either. He took pains not to hurt me. Yet. He snarled, “
Where is your mate
?”