Secret Worlds (598 page)

She was set down on her feet as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. His mouth was open, his tongue out to taste her. Isobel tried to break free, but his grip was like iron. She sobbed aloud as her feet sliding and dragging across the floor in an effort to get away.

Matteo made that odd growling sound again, and he dragged them a few paces to the right. He pulled at her hair until she lost her footing and fell backwards, his heavy body following her down. Isobel landed on the bed in the corner, pressed into the soft mattress by his weight. She screamed, a cry that was cut short when he forced his face to hers and plunged his tongue into her mouth.

Twisting her head aside with a wrenching motion, she struggled against him, pushing and shoving with her arms and legs. When he tried to kiss her again, she bit him. He withdrew his head once more, laughing at her with a strangely flat parody of Matteo’s voice.

His hands were everywhere. One stroked her hip while the other pulled up the hem of her nightgown to stroke the bare skin of her calf and thigh. She used all her strength against him, scratching and biting, but the struggle only helped him. Her attempts to kick him only made it easier for him to slip between her flailing legs. She gasped as his iron hard shaft pressed against her most intimate place.

Matteo’s shirt was open now, the skin of his chest abrading her breasts through the thin nightgown. To her shame, her body quickened underneath him. Confused and frightened she clawed at his face, but he easily subdued her before she could do any serious damage. He took hold of her arms and moved upwards, rubbing his whole body against her with another of those strange growling purrs.

She should have felt hot, smothered by his heat. Instead Isobel was chilled to the bone, all of her warmth leaching out as it came into contact with the icy exterior of his body.

When he let go of her to tear at the fastenings of his breeches, Isobel put her arms on his chest and pushed—but this time didn’t use her arms.

She used her mind.

Acting on instinct alone she reached out with her ability, terrified that the long dormant skill would fail her. But the power came, raw and unfiltered by a spell to give it form or purpose.

She didn’t have the words or knowledge to put Matteo to sleep or kill him. All she could do was push her energy in his direction in an effort to force him away from her.

Her hands ached as they made contact with Matteo’s chest. Above her, he convulsed, the blackness in his eyes flaring brightly for an instant. His hands reached out to clutch at her. They bit into her skin, and his mouth opened wide in a soundless scream. Horrified, Isobel desperately gathered her energy back to her body to try and strike at him again, but the blackness in his Matteo’s aura followed it, sticking to it like tar.

Panicked that the creature was now trying to invade her soul, she thrust the energy away again with a force she hadn’t known she was capable of.

For the first time in her life, the energy that she’d always associated with her ability left her body. The effort blinded her, burning out her vision with a wall of white. It was excruciatingly painful, like being stung by a bee everywhere.

Eventually the moment passed and her awareness returned in fits and starts. She was weak and out of breath, but otherwise unharmed.

Vision blurred, Isobel gingerly sat up on the bed. Matteo was sprawled on the floor, knocked back by the force of the blast. Her chest was tight and painful as she tried to get a hold of herself. Still trembling, she dragged herself to the end of the bed farthest from the fallen body until she could stand. With unsteady feet, she stepped over Matteo’s legs, stopping short at the sight of the stain on the floor a few feet in front of her.

Isobel tried to step around it. But the strange black stain moved toward her like a creeping shadow. Indeed part of it seemed to be more of an oily shadow than a physical thing—and it was heading right for her, gaining speed as it went.

Gasping, she scrambled back blindly. She fell over Matteo’s body and landed on his chest. He didn’t move at all as she sprang back up, reaching for the lamp burning low on the nearby table. Jerking to the left, she forced the shadow to adjust its course. Muscles screaming with tension, she waited until the shadow-stain moved over the spilled lantern oil before hurling down the lamp.

Whispering words she’d learned long ago, Isobel used an old fire-starting spell to help build the flames, willing them to form a circle around the shadow. It was one of the first spells her grandmother had ever taught her, one of the few she still remembered.

A terrible sound like tearing metal filled the air as the ring of fire consumed the darkness from the outside in. Covering her ears and pressing against the wall, Isobel watched the oily shadow bubble and boil before the flames suddenly burned out.

An ominous silence fell. The stain on the floor had deepened and it was smoking under the broken glass of the shattered lamp, making her cough. Still pressed against the wall, she shifted to the left, but the blackness didn’t follow her.

For a minute she stayed up against the wall. Heart in her throat, she took a tentative step forward, but the stain still didn’t track her movement.

Slumping slightly, Isobel relaxed, until she caught sight of Matteo on the floor a few feet away.

Was he dead now?

Isobel inched toward him until she was close enough to touch him. She reached out to prod him with her foot. He didn’t move. Kneeling down, she put two fingers on his neck, feeling for the beat of his heart.

His heartbeat was strong and steady, and he was warm, almost burning hot in the relatively cold room. She hadn’t been imagining that when she’d fallen on top of him. And this close she could feel his breath against her wrist. Had it been the shadow that had made him so cold earlier? Had she destroyed it?

Had she...saved him?

Pushing away that hopeful thought, she stood up. She didn’t know what had happened. And all she knew was that the shade inside him wasn’t in control now.

What was going to happen when he woke up?

A memory of those hungry and watchful black eyes came, and she squeezed her own shut to blot out the image. The effort failed. Instead, her mind threw up other nightmare scenarios—body after body of all of those women who had preceded her.

Raising a shaky hand to her lip, she glanced at the rumpled bed. There was a pillow lying on it and Matteo was unconscious...completely vulnerable on the floor.

A tremor ran through her and tears began to stream down her face. It was impossible. Not only would she be signing her own death warrant when the
Conte
opened the door in the morning, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to hurt Matteo, despite what he’d been about to do to her. And for all she knew, she had permanently damaged him. He might even be dead by morning.

She tried to tell herself she shouldn’t care, but her whole body flooded with remorse.

Stop that.

Isobel needed to worry about herself. Sucking in a deep breath, she spun around, taking stock of the room. It was fairly dark inside the cottage now that the lantern was gone, but she’d always had good vision in the dark. Her grandmother used to tell her it was a practitioner’s natural element, a fact she was grateful to now.

Her examination didn’t show much. There was little outside of what she’d glimpsed earlier. The furniture was sparse and there were no convenient weapons lying around. The windows were high and small. She could have fit through one, but she had heard the
Conte
order his servants to guard the door till morning. They would be on her before she hit the ground.

A pile of brown at the far corner of the mattress attracted her attention. Pulling it off, she found it was Matteo’s caped greatcoat. Riffling through it, she found the pockets empty. Disappointed, but not surprised, she dropped it on the bed before thinking better of it. The room was cold enough to see her own breath, which meant it would be freezing outside. If she discovered a way out, she would need the protection the coat offered. However, there was little she could do for her bare feet, she thought, looking down in dismay.

A nearby roll of thunder distracted her from her self-pity. It was accompanied by the distinctive patter of rain on glass. Her heart sank. A storm would make any escape much more difficult.

Unless the guards decide to take shelter from the rain.

If they did, maybe she could slip away. There was no way for them to know that she had survived. As long as the door was left secured then maybe she had a chance.

Isobel looked down at her feet again. She had to do something. If she had the protection of Matteo’s coat, then maybe she could tear strips off her nightgown to wrap around her feet. It was already torn from their earlier struggle. Wincing at the memory, Isobel fisted her hands and sucked in a steadying breath. She turned to Matteo with a critical eye. His exposed chest moved up and down steadily, his lower half still covered in his breeches and boots.

Still alive
. Her life, on the other hand, was in a far more precarious position even if she managed to get out of the cottage unseen.

Do whatever it takes.

She needed to be mercenary to survive. Steeling her resolve, she walked over to Matteo’s prone form and kneeled down. Tentatively, she reached out and took hold of one of his boots, tugging gently. It was harder to remove than she’d thought. By the time the boot slipped, off she was sweating and shaking, terrified that he would wake up. But he didn’t stir. She worked off the second boot and examined them both.

Stepping into the boots and trying to walk proved impossible. They were simply too large. Isobel almost fell over twice before giving up. Dashing away the moisture that stung her eyes with the back of her hand, she put the boots down next to Matteo. His thick woolen socks would have to suffice. Slipping those off much more easily, she drew them over her feet and was grateful for their warmth. She cast another guilty glance at Matteo before dragging the blanket off the bed and throwing it over him. Then she took it off and put it back on the bed.

She would
not
help him.

Trying to move quietly in case the guards were still outside despite the rain, she carried the chair under the far window. Unfortunately, the blasted thing seemed to be swollen shut. Hands scrabbling on the wood she tried the other window. It too was damaged, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t open it. Were they nailed shut?

Giving way to self-pity, Isobel sat on the floor, her eyes stinging. Her eyes swung from the sealed windows to the door, trying to formulate a plan. But no brilliant ideas came to her. Defeated, she sat there for a few minutes, trying to prepare for the worst.

Though she wasn’t a brave woman, it was harder than she’d ever imagined to sit there and meekly accept her fate. Giving up simply wasn’t in her nature.

Gathering her knees to her and hugging them tightly, she pushed away her feelings of despair and helplessness. She would do something—even if it meant attacking the guards the minute they opened the door in the morning. She couldn’t possibly win, but at least she would go down fighting.

It took her some time to realize that the sound of drops she heard were not from her tears falling on the floor.

The roof was leaking. On the other side of the newly installed chimney was a small puddle. A desperate idea came to her. It wasn’t likely to work, but she had to try.

Pulling the table with effort, she positioned it directly over the puddle. Then she put the chair on top of the table before adjusting Matteo’s coat over her shoulders. She tied the ends together to keep it from dragging and tripping her before climbing onto the chair. Bent over nearly double, she pushed at the weak spot in the thatched ceiling. With some determined pushing, she could poke her finger out to feel the rain and night air outside. But getting her whole body out this way would require some effort.

Wasn’t there something her grandmother had taught her that would help? Some spell for moving immovable objects? If there was, she couldn’t remember it. The fire starting spell wouldn’t help much, either. Even if the damp thatch caught, the smoke would alert people for miles around.

Doesn’t matter.

Spine stiffening, Isobel continued to tear and poke at the weak spot in the roof. Eventually, she had created a hole large enough to fit her head through. The rain was slowing down. The occasional fat drop pelted her face, running down her neck and chest to chill her despite the stolen coat.

She tried to widen the hole with her shoulders, but all she succeeded in doing was scratching her neck. Crouching down again, she carefully pulled the coat over her head, holding on to the nearest beam of wood in the roof to keep her balance. Then she forced upwards with her back, using all her strength. A loud crack sounded as one of the supporting branches gave way and her shoulders were able to rise above the gap she’d opened wide.

Hoping the noise of breaking wood was covered by the wind, she crawled upwards. She hauled herself through the hole, sucking in a deep breath as the branches and bundled thatch scraped her sides. Without the protection of the great coat she would have been torn to shreds. As it was, she would probably be bruised from neck to knee.

Finally, she was outside in the damp night air, clinging to the thatch as she sagged there, trying to gather her strength. Repeatedly adjusting the coat, she crawled to the edge of the roof and looked down. The ground seemed very far away.

There was no convenient tree to climb down, but there was a pile of canvas-covered building materials directly under the eave of the house. Praying that it was more thatch and not lumber and nails, she crawled over the edge, dangling in the air for an endless moment. The she let go.

She hit the canvas pile with a thump. Though her hope that it was more thatch was probably correct, it didn’t really matter since it felt like she had landed on a pile of lumber. Testing each limb gingerly, she gave thanks that at least all her bones appeared to be intact. Grimacing, she moved off the pile, stepping carefully on the muddy ground. She made her way to the side of the house.