Lost in You (7 page)

How had she found that out? He’d been careful not to betray himself with any hint of that side of him. She’d been accepting of so much already. “It’s an
Other
with the ability to call on the powers of his or her fetch animal. Even to take on some of the characteristics of that animal. But how—”

It was her turn to cut him off. “You attacked the landlord.” The men. Ysbel’s ring.

His stomach lurched as he remembered. He’d assumed it was just another dream. His hand found his pocket.

“Are you looking for these?” Ellery handed him the pearl and the ring.

Thanks to Asher, the wolf-head ring was all he had left of his sister. When the time came, revenge would be sweet and very painful. He shoved both deep into his pocket.

“I thought I could pay for a doctor,” Ellery said.

“He would have been useless.”

“So I was told.” She picked at the bedcovers, obviously uneasy. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

She jerked to her feet, paced restlessly, confusion clouding her face.

“The pearl was yours,” he said, hoping to break through the tense silence. “It was the one I nicked from Mr. Porter. I wonder if he’s noticed yet.”

She shot him a sharp look. “You’re supposed to be indestructible. What happened?”

No more questions about the change? Could he be so lucky? Or had she come so far that nothing ruffled her anymore. Either way, he wouldn’t argue.

“I wish I knew,” he answered. “The
Keun Marow
’s poison affects
fey
power. Disrupts it. Can even kill if enough of it gets in your system. When I took on your wounds, I took on the poison. I knew that would happen and was prepared. But not for the severity of the collapse. It was like being infected by a hundred such hounds instead of only one.”

She cocked her head at a questioning angle. “You’ve got the reliquary. You don’t need me anymore. Why do you care what happens to me?”

“Asher is after you because of me.” What a smooth liar he was becoming. With his hand in his pocket, he tumbled the ring between his fingers. Ellery Reskeen would not stand between him and his task. No matter how dear she was or how desirable. He cut her off before she could ask him something else he couldn’t answer. “You were either very brave or very foolish to get involved last night.”

She offered him a crooked smile. “Probably a bit of both. But I wasn’t alone. Evan helped. He brought me the dress, too. You owe him a pound and six shillings for it, by the way. He’s told us to keep out of sight while we’re here. He isn’t sure how long he can guarantee our safety.”

“Now that I’ve revealed myself as
Other
, you mean.” It must have been the mother of all cock-ups if Evan had interceded. Despite the reputation of his inn among the
Other
, he didn’t like any attention drawn to the fact. His normal clientele weren’t so forgiving of strange doings and stranger people. Conor hoped he hadn’t bollixed things up for him too badly. He’d accused Ellery of leaving a trail for Asher and here he’d done everything but paint a bull’s-eye on their backs.

“Will it happen again? Your changing like that?”

“No. It’s a power, but one I use sparingly. The discipline and magic it requires make it dangerous. Draw on the power too often or too deeply and there’s no turning back. The man becomes lost. The beast takes over.”

She leaned back against the windowsill, pushed her curls off her face. “It seems everything you do is dangerous.”

He gave a short dry laugh. “Now, you’re catching on.”

She watched him sleep, damning herself for the worst sort of coward. All day they had spent talking. She could have brought up her father a million different ways. But every time, she shied away, and the question remained unasked.

But what a question.

Did you kill my father?
How could anyone drop that into the middle of a conversation nonchalantly?

They’d talked of her father. She’d somehow found herself telling Conor long tales of her childhood. Of the days before her mother died when her father’s regiment had been stationed in the Leewards. Of pleading with him to take her along when he was sent home. Of clutching at his legs while his friends laughed or looked away until he’d finally been shamed into relenting. And later as they’d moved back and forth between stations at home and on the continent, she told Conor of how she gave ground as each new mistress entered her father’s life, took up the household duties as they moved on.

Security revolved in making herself indispensable, anticipating his needs before he did. Being a doormat when sometimes all she wanted was to throw his haversack back at him and never see another scarlet jacket again.

She liked to think they did well together after a fashion. And if there hadn’t been love, there had been respect and affection and laughter. It could have been so much worse.

Conor had listened and told his own stories. Stories of growing up in Cornwall, living in a house full of aunts and uncles and cousins, the comings and goings of a family balanced between the mortal world and the
fey
. He laughed, remembering the pranks he and his cousin, Ruan played on the others. His voice grew proud as he spoke of his gram’s un-tiring work as a healer in the neighborhood, of his father’s quiet strength as he tended his estate. The deep love he felt for them all was evident in every word. Ellery couldn’t help the envy that gnawed at her. She would have given her life to have such a family—or any family.

She’d asked him only once about Ysbel, the sister he’d lost. His eyes had gone black and empty. The pitiless stare of the
fey
. “My cousin Simon handed her over to Asher. Betrayed her to her death.”

But not once had she asked the question that gnawed at her stomach and twisted her insides until she stalked the corners of the room, measuring out the paces hour after hour.

Did you kill my father?
“You don’t have to do this, Ellery.”

She spun around, her heart leaping in her chest. Conor was awake and watching her restless fuming. “Don’t startle me like that,” she snapped even as a wild fluttering started in her stomach. She couldn’t put it off forever. Now was her chance.

He regarded her from eyes mellowed by sleep, yet still she felt like he could pick out every thought in her head. “You don’t have to guard me like an invalid—or a madman.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can tell you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not.”

He didn’t let her finish. “There’s a reason mortals know so little of the
fey
realm. It’s frightening—unnatural.”

“But you’re human—strange, to be sure, but not unnatural.” She tried laughing off his comment as she started pacing again.

He pushed himself up against the headboard, the quilt falling to his lap.

She swallowed hard at the sight of his chest, at the stippled tattoos that encircled his upper arms, raced across his collarbones, twined over his shoulders. Despite every warning signal, she ached for his touch. For that hungry anticipation she’d experienced when he’d laid his hands on her before. She knew he sensed her scrutiny, but what he thought was hidden in the unfathomable reaches of his eyes.

“There’s a new wariness in you,” he said. “A tension. Is it because of what I am? Because you saw me shift?”

She tried recreating the shock she’d felt at the changes in him. Tried to work up some horror or revulsion at the marks of the
amhas-draoi
that covered his body. It just wasn’t there.

She paused at the hearth. Wanting him and wanting to know the truth warred within her. “It’s not that.” She ran her fingers across the chimneypiece, fiddled with the candles.

“Then what?” He motioned to the bed. “Come. Sit. I can’t concentrate with you fidgeting like that.”

She dragged herself over to the bed, sat as close to the edge as she could without making it seem like she was avoiding him. But even there, the heat of his body sent a dizzying wave of need through her. This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman who’d lived cheek by jowl with men all her life. How was it that this man could light fires in her when no man before had ever even caused a spark? It wasn’t fair.

He reached out a hand as if he might caress her. Her stomach tightened, waiting for his touch. But before his fingers brushed her face, his hand dropped back to the bed. “Here.” He dug into the pocket of his breeches, came up with the pearl. “I told you before. It’s yours. I got it for you.”

She took it from him, hating her need, hating her fear. Hating her suspicions. Tears swam in her eyes. She sniffed and gave a shaky laugh. “How did you do it?”

He plucked the pearl from her palm, twisted his wrist in a quick move, bringing his other hand over the top. Flashing her a mischievous smile, he opened his hands. No pearl. “The hand is faster than the eye, and Mr. Porter is none the wiser.”

She glanced over at his sword, hanging where she’d left it on the peg by the door. “I thought you might have killed him.”

With another quick movement of his wrist, the pearl reappeared. He handed it back to her. “Dealing death is a serious business. I don’t kill innocents for sport.” His voice hardened. “But I do what I have to do.”

“Did you have to kill my father?” There. She said it. His body grew still, a quick inrush of breath his only visible reaction. She waited, but he didn’t answer. He stared out the window, his eyes fixed on a point far distant or deep within. She couldn’t tell. The empty silence between them lengthened, stretched until she couldn’t stand it. She threw herself to her feet, her nails digging into her palms.

“Conor?”

The gaze he turned on her was as cold and cruel as death.

“Yes, Ellery. I had to kill him. There was no other way.”

Ellery’s pulse skittered in her throat, her blue eyes held the shine of unshed tears.

Conor wanted to wrap his arms around her, hold her while she wept. He fought to hold his hands in his lap. It was time to put the temptation aside once and for all. “He got in the way,” he said.

“And so you butchered him. I saw the blood. That wasn’t a killing. It was a massacre. You killed them all.”

“Think what you like. Asher was denied the reliquary.”

“And that was all that mattered to you. Not that my father had a family, people who cared about him.”

“According to you, he left behind only a bastard daughter and his latest whore who found a new bed partner within twenty-four hours.” His voice was purposefully cold and mocking.

“You filthy prick.”

“He broke the seals. If Asher loose is a threat, the Triad reunited would shake the world to its knees.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she countered. “I don’t know anything except what you’ve told me. You could be making this all up. Asher could be a lie, like everything else.”

“I never lied to you, Ellery. Not once.” He just hadn’t told her everything. That was entirely different. That was necessary.

“No. You just neglected to tell me you’d murdered my father and his men in cold blood.”

He hated this. Hated the loathing in her eyes, the disgust in her voice. But he wouldn’t deny her accusations. Let her think the worst of him. It made what he had to do easier.

“It was a battle,” he said. “Casualties happen. Coruna, Talavera, Badajoz. Those men might have died a thousand different places.”

“But they didn’t, did they? They died at the chapel in San Salas. How can I be sure I’m not next?”

She struck the rawest nerve. He slammed the side of his fist into the wall, the plaster crumbling beneath his temper. “I kill for a purpose.”

“Your purpose, Conor. Not mine.” She wheeled away from him. Crossed the room.

“I’ll try my luck on my own. I’ve survived this long.”

He’d succeeded too well. He’d meant to put distance between them. He never intended for her to leave. The woman was a bundle of courage, foolishness, and stubborn independence. It’s what he admired about her. And what would get her killed. “Asher will find you. The
Keun Marow
will track you.”

She threw his greatcoat over her, buttoned it. “Why? Why bother with me? I no longer own the reliquary.”

He swung his legs off the bed. Fought to stand. “He doesn’t know that.”

“I’ll disappear. I can do that easily enough. London. Newcastle. Edinburgh. There are a million places a woman alone can vanish.”

Events were spinning out of control. It was time to rein her in. “You haven’t any money,” he pointed out with smug relish.

She laughed and with a choreographed flick of her wrist revealed the pearl. “Haven’t I?” She opened the door. Glancing back, her blue eyes blazed with fury. “
Nos dha
, Mr. Bligh. And may it be a sleep of the damned.”

What a fool she’d been. What a complete fool. She’d known. That made it even worse. She’d known since their conversations in the cottage that Conor had played a part in her father’s death. The things he’d said. The things he hadn’t. But she’d pushed aside the questions, ignored the doubts. She’d wanted to believe in him. And why? Because she was tired of being lonely. Because he’d kissed her. Because every time he looked at her, she felt a strength and a power that had nothing to do with magic.

What a pathetic mess she was.

An icy wind rushed down the street, sending last year’s leaves flying. Shutters slammed on their hinges and the branches above her creaked and scraped. She jogged up the street, hugging the shadows. Footsteps echoed behind her. Wishing she still carried Conor’s dagger, she backed herself against the closest building as two very human men rounded the corner and disappeared up the street. Letting out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, she started walking, more quickly now. This track led south, toward the toll road. From there, she could choose any direction, any destination.

As she neared the edge of the village, the houses lay farther apart, separated by copses of scrubby trees and long fields of rocky pasture. She kept to the verge as the road sank between high earth walls topped by bramble hedges. But with each step, the air thickened like smoke. Her lungs burned as she fought to breathe, and she sank to the ground. It’s the only thing that saved her.

“Your kinsman’s led us a dance.” The voice didn’t sound human, more like the crackle of crunching leaves, the sough of the wind. “But he’s mine. Tonight.”

She crushed herself back into the underbrush, but the words floated above. The conversation took place in the copse on the other side of the hedge.

“It’s a risk bringing them here,” came the reply. “Too many people. Too much at stake should they be seen.”

“’Tis not your place to guide my steps. Only to ease my way. Remember that.” Ellery flinched at the venom concentrated in that dry, raspy voice.

“I’ve gotten you this far, haven’t I?”

“The bargain’s not complete until Bligh is dealt with and the reliquary is mine.”

Ice formed around her heart as she gripped the roots of the hedge.

“Conor’s no easy mark,” the second voice spoke again.

“That’s why I have you. You’re going to get me Bligh, just as you did his sister.”

There was a long silence. The second voice spoke again, the words clipped with emotion. “You didn’t have to kill—”

“Enough.”

Glancing up through the branches, she choked off a gasp. The creature speaking seemed human. He wore a frock coat, knee breeches and a starched neckcloth. But his pale skin was pulled mask-like over bones sharp as knives, and his fingers resembled claws as they clutched his cane.

Asher. It had to be.

Could she leave Conor to that?

“What of the girl?” Asher’s companion was a tall, rangy man. But she could make out little else. He stood deep in the gloom of the copse, hidden from the moon’s faint shine.

Asher on the other hand stood full in the light, giving Ellery plenty of opportunity to watch the dark emotions flit across his evil features. “The soldier’s daughter? Her gifts interest me. But her end is certain. She cannot be allowed to live.”

Panic choked her, but she struggled to control it. Conor had been telling the truth. She felt the ripple of death that washed off Asher in fetid waves. It soured the air, salted the earth, poisoned all it touched.

She’d run from Conor. And now Conor was her only hope. Inching on her belly, ignoring the grasping tangle of briars, she climbed down from the hedge. Step by silent step, she crept up the road back toward the village. Every moment, she waited for a shout from behind. A blast of magic. The keening wail of the
Keun Marow
. But Asher and his companion were too deep in conversation to note her passing, and the night kept her secret.

Ellery knew something was wrong. A crowd swelled the doorway of the tavern, spilling into the street. Shouts and angry words carried back to her on an ill breeze. Clouds condensed overhead, smothering the moon, and Ellery shivered, sensing Asher’s power in these doings, though she couldn’t explain why. Perhaps it was only her imagination run wild. Though by now, the real world was far outstripping anything her imagination could conjure.

Asher’s net was closing. He wanted her. Then he wanted her dead. This was all Conor’s fault. And Conor was going to fix it. He’d saved her once. He could do it again. She only needed to reach him.

A man’s thick voice shouted, “He tried to kill ’em. Run mad, he is.”

Another echoed the accusation.

Standing on her toes, she fought to see over the heads of the men. Struggled to catch a glimpse of Conor or hear a snarled threat as he settled them with one arrogant word. Even the reassuring presence of Evan would have calmed her runaway pulse. So far, the men were holding back. But she knew it would take but one wrong word or gesture to turn the rabble into a mob.

Evan had given them two days to be gone from here. Their time was up in more ways than one.

She pushed her way through.

Conor stood on the bottom step, a hand on the banister. Only Ellery seemed to notice it was the one thing keeping him upright. He’d dressed in haste, his shirt untucked and buttoned askew, the mage marks twining across his collarbones vivid in the lamplight. “I’ve no quarrel with you, Mr. Kay.” He raked the gathering with a warning look. “Nor with your friends.”

Emboldened by the crowd, Mr. Kay stepped forward. “We’re a God-fearing folk. We don’t want your devilry in our village.”

“Which is why I’m leaving. Let me pass, and I’ll cause no trouble.”

“It’s too late,” Ellery called out. Conor’s attention shifted to her with what she thought was relief. “The trouble’s already here. He’s found us.”

“Where?”

The men jostled her as she spoke. “South of the village. He’s not alone. He travels with a man.”

Conor’s face remained grave, but his eyes glittered with a new malice. “Not a man, Ellery. A traitor and a coward. My cousin, Simon.”

A shiver of drawn steel drew her eye. “No more talking,” Mr. Kay said. “I’ve had all I can take of your kind.”

His bravado inspired the men to renew their calls for Conor’s blood, pushing forward into the taproom, knocking Ellery aside.

“Look out!” she shouted.

But Conor hadn’t needed her warning. His sword appeared before she’d finished speaking, his stance that of a warrior poised for battle. “You’ll not win this fight.” Conor’s voice held the inhuman echo of the
fey
. “It’s foolish to try.”

As he shifted from foot to foot, light bounced blue and silver from his blade. His gaze became a darkling stare, his eyes gone hard and black as obsidian. Ellery held her breath, knowing that weak as he was, Conor could still end this standoff anytime he chose. One slash of his sword or one spell’s summoning would scatter this group in terror. Yet he held back. Waited for Mr. Kay to decide the outcome.

“Conor,” she urged. “We have to leave. Now.”

“Mr. Kay?” Conor asked, “what say you? Do we finish this?” He strung out each word, enunciating every syllable. Low-voiced. Smooth. His eyes never wavering from the innkeeper. “Call them off,” he said. “It’s over.”

Her breath came in short painful gasps as if a giant hand gripped her throat. Her chest constricted, her lungs unable to expand. “Conor,” she whispered, incapable of speaking over the blood roaring in her ears.

Dazed, Mr. Kay lowered his weapon and backed up. The men behind him faltered, confused. Conor remained where he was. Unmoving. Immovable. Sweat damped his shirt, sheened his face. His hands trembled. For all his show of power, the mage sickness still weakened him.

A high keening broke the tense silence, rose and fell as the
Keun Marow
tracked them. Uneasy, the men murmured. Glanced about.

Conor put out a hand. “Come, Ellery.”

“I can’t.”

“Now’s not the time to argue over past mistakes.”

“No. I mean I can’t move. Can’t breathe.” Conor gripped her. Embraced her. Held her so that their hearts met and matched. This time she knew what he was doing. This time she made herself ignore the rush of excitement that accompanied his touch. There was nothing of the lover about him. He took her weakness. That was all.

The suffocating tightness eased, and she immediately pushed him away.

A shadow of icy amusement passed across his face. “Better?” he asked.

Determined to keep her distance, she gave a curt nod. “Well enough.”

She stumbled toward the door through the men who moved aside as if they walked in a trance. “What did you do to them?”

As he passed, he flashed a sharp glance at Mr. Kay and the others. “The power of the
leveryas
. A touch of it can distract. In its strongest form, it can compel. Control.”

Outside, the cries came again. Louder. Closer as the
Keun Marow
encircled the village. Seeking their trail. Ellery’s throat began to close again. “We’ll never outrun them.”

“Not on foot.” Conor shoved open the stable door. Led two horses from their stalls.

“We’ll ride.”

“Now we’re horse thieves?”

He threw a saddle over the first horse, cinching the girth.

“It’s steal or die. In my book, that leaves one choice.” He paused in the middle of buckling the bridle. “If you insist, I’ll send them payment—with interest.” He shot her a devil grin.

She knew she was being ridiculous. She’d come to him for rescue, and he was doing his best. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t done the same and worse in her day. But her earlier resentment flared, so interwoven with panic and horror, she wasn’t sure which emotion held sway. She tried focusing on saddling her frightened horse. The animal sidled and backed, jostling her as she worked.

Every breath burned her lungs. Worked its way up her throat. Asher must be near. She’d never experienced such an overpowering sense of helplessness.

“Mount up.” Conor tossed her into the saddle. Strapped his dagger to her waist. His touch was reassuring, his face grim.

“Head southwest. Towards Penzance. Make for the village of Polvossa. The house is called Daggerfell. You’ll find safety there. Whatever you do, don’t stop. Don’t look behind you.”

His voice sounded muffled as if he spoke to her through a fog.

A man stepped from the shadows. Asher. Tall and thin with a look of madness in his face. In his hand, he held a barbed sword, the jagged-edged sides stained red and black. “Going so soon? And we’ve only just arrived.”

Conor slid in front of her, his own sword drawn. A buzzing erupted in Ellery’s head like the sounding of a thousand bees. Everything around her wavered as if she saw it through water or fire.

Asher’s red lips curled back to show jagged teeth. “I see your manners have yet to improve,
amhas-draoi
. You haven’t introduced me to your companion.” His eyes flicked to her. “Pretty thing, and with so much the look of her father, don’t you think?”

Her hand sought out Conor’s dagger, her fingers wrapping themselves familiarly around the hilt. For some reason, this seemed to steady her. The buzzing subsided. The figures before her grew solid and real again.

“You’ll not have her.” Conor’s voice held a threatening weight.

Asher reached out. Ran the tip of one claw-like finger down Conor’s blade. He never moved. Never flinched. “Won’t I? Once I choose to do something, I generally have my way. Ask your sister.” His eyes lit with an evil glow. “Oh, that’s right. You can’t. Well then, ask your cousin instead.” He motioned for another to step forward. “I love family reunions.”

It was the villain from the woods. Seeing them together, the Bligh resemblance was obvious. He was as tall as Conor and with the same arrogant pose, but this man’s face held only traces of Conor’s hard beauty.

Conor’s whole body seemed to vibrate with rage. This time, the sword wavered. His face became white as chalk. “I should bury this blade in your chest and be done.”

“You could try,” the man answered, nervously fingering the same wolf-head ring she’d seen on Conor.

“What was your price for handing her over, Simon? What lies did he promise you?”

Though he worked to look unmoved, Simon winced; a shadow passed over him. Then he shrugged. “What does anyone want? Power, of course.” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand. You were always the gifted one. The golden child. Now it’s my turn.”

“But Ysbel—” Conor’s voice broke; his hands shook. Ellery’s grip tightened on the dagger. If Asher caught even a hint of Conor’s true condition, it was over. The taunts would end in bloodshed.

“Enough,” Asher commanded. “I shall take the girl.” Conor’s lips curled in a cruel smile. “You’ll not have her.” Asher laughed. “You don’t think you’ll stop me? You couldn’t save your sister. This one will be much the same.” He thrust, aiming his barbed sword at Conor’s stomach, meeting his blade instead in a shower of sparks.

Her horse shied, Ellery’s knees tightened on the saddle as she steadied herself. Adjusted her grip on the knife. Found the best angle. Aimed. Released.

Conor was retreating beneath Asher’s attack when her blade found the demon’s back. Buried itself hilt-deep into the flesh below his left lung.

A wind whipped around her, a maelstrom that burned and chilled her both. She threw a hand up to shield her eyes. Then it was silent. And Asher was gone. Simon was a memory.

She and Conor were alone once again in the stable. She slid off the horse. Her knees shook as she landed. Her whole body shook by the time she’d crossed the room to Conor. “What happened?”

Conor held his side, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He nodded toward the dagger that lay on the stable floor. “Iron. It disrupted Asher’s magic.”

“Well, that’s it then. It wasn’t nearly as difficult as you made it seem.”

“He’s not dead, Ellery. Only interrupted.” He struggled up, bit off a curse. “Somehow his wards were breached. Enough to allow you to penetrate with that dagger. He’ll need time to recover before he returns.” He dabbed a hand at a long bloody weal down his side, hissing in pain. “It’s a reprieve, not a victory.”