Lost in You (17 page)

“I should never have let it go as far as it did. That was my mistake.” She wheeled away from him, but he halted her escape with a firm hand on her arm. “There’s no future for us, Ellery. I’m not the marrying, settling, dandle-children-on-my-knee kind of person.”

“You should have thought of that before you fucked me. Or did you? And you decided to fuck me anyway. I’m no man’s whore. Not yours. Not Ruan’s.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” She broke his hold with a quick yank. Paced away. Returned to face him down. “I’ve scratched and fought and groveled to escape the fate that caught so many of my kind. Orphans. Bastards. With only one way to make ends meet. You saw Mr. Porter. I’ve fought that kind of prejudice my whole life.”

“I’m not the enemy, Ellery.”

She looked as if she wanted to hit him. Instead, she placed the palm of her hand flat on his chest. The clean scent of her filled his head, delicious and warm. Her cloudless blue eyes penetrated past every defense he threw up. She knew he wanted her. Knew that but one movement on her part would bring them both tumbling into bed. But she waited for him to make the first move. And that was her mistake.

He gently removed her hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t be the man you want.”

Without meeting her eyes, he backed up and retreated like the coward he was. It was only when he was at the end of the corridor that he heard her call after him.

“You know, you’ve never asked me what I want. You might be surprised.”

He didn’t look back.

Conor worked the sword edge with the whetstone, listening for the sing of rock on steel that told him his angle was constant. He’d come to the stables after leaving Ellery, praying she wouldn’t follow. Wishing she had. That had been hours ago, and though the sword had long since been honed to a keen edge, he kept at it.

It was full dark now, his predator’s eyesight cutting through the shadows as easily as his newly sharpened blade would cut flesh. He leaned back, wiped his forehead with a sleeve. Stared up at the house.

Lights shone warm across the grass, and the grand strains of Mozart came to him from an open window. Jamys, most likely. Ruan hadn’t the patience or Morgan the temperament that allowed for musicality. There was a pause and a few clunky ill-tuned notes followed by Ellery’s voice singing a plaintive soldier’s song. He pictured her and Jamys seated side by side at the pianoforte. Easy together. Comfortable in each other’s company.

Mayhap he’d chosen to push the assets of the wrong cousin. Mayhap Jamys was the better choice for Ellery. His chest knotted with an emotion so close to jealousy it frightened him.

He focused back on the sword, adjusted his grip on the stone. Started again.

He’d been relieved when Ellery’s early fury had driven her away from him. Had hoped that this would end it between them, but Simon’s attack—coming so close to losing Ellery to Asher’s brutality—had knocked him back on his heels. Driven everything but a leaping, blood-pumping need from his mind.

Keep your distance, he’d told himself. Don’t get involved. And then what had he done? He’d given in like some novice. Forgotten every ounce of training in a pair of seductive blue eyes and a body that didn’t give a man a chance.

A smile touched his lips. The woman could kiss. He’d give her that much. It had only taken one intoxicating flick of her tongue in his mouth to set him ablaze. But he could have stopped her. Stopped himself.

But he hadn’t. And now he faced the problem of what to do about it.

Laughter floated on the wind. And murmured conversation. Slamming his sword back in its scabbard, he stood to stretch. Wished for the hundredth time it was him in there with Ellery. Wished for the thousandth time he’d never allowed things to get so out of hand. That his course remained set—his goal clear.

He fingered the pommel, his hand closing naturally over the well-worn ridges. As easy as breathing. As easy as sex.

He ran a hand through his hair. Shook his head in disgust. When had duty become a four-letter word?

Ellery leaned over the stall door, feeding the stolen bay gelding pieces of apple. The horse lipped at her fingers, his shaggy head drowsy, his eyes half-closed.

Conor stood watching for a long moment, deciding his next move. His attempt at coupling Ellery and Ruan wasn’t working. So if pushing Ellery away wouldn’t work, mayhap he needed to have her run of her own free will. She’d lost the natural fear of the prey for the predator. He needed to show her again that not all her wishing could make him the man she thought he was. And that was the point. He wasn’t just a man. Something else lurked beneath his skin. Something sinister. Bloodthirsty. Inhuman.

He stepped out of the shadows. “The horses are well enough to travel. Jock leaves for Evan’s place first thing in the morning.”

She jumped, swung around, her hand to her chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“It’s about time.”

She gave the bay one last rub of his nose. “Do you think Evan has smoothed things over by now? We certainly left him with a mess. Those men…”

“Were Mortal. What they don’t understand, they fear. And rightly so.” He shrugged. “Evan’s got the fast-talking tongue of a gypsy. If I know him, he’ll have them doubting their own existence before he’s done.”

She gave an unsteady laugh. Drew close enough for him to reach out. Brush her hair back from her face. Cup the luscious curve of her breasts. He did none of those things.

Instead, it was Ellery who touched him. Placed a hesitant hand on his arm. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look that way. Your eyes go bright, but the warmth is gone. It’s you—but not you.”

He grabbed her. Held her in a vise-like grip until she flinched. “That’s just it.” His words sharp and violent. “There is no warmth, Ellery. There’s nothing. I’m
Other
. I’m
Heller
. And I’m
amhas-draoi
. Any one of those things separately should make you think twice. All three and you should be afraid for your life.” He released her. Flung her away so that she stumbled back.

She straightened, rubbing her bruised arms. “Why are you saying these things?”

He advanced on her. Stood so that he loomed dangerously over her. “Because I need you to understand that whatever fantasies you’ve been spinning about us are way off the mark. There is no us. There never was.”

The stricken look in her face would have been heartbreaking. If he’d had a heart. It just made him angrier. More determined to put as much distance as he could between them. For her sake as well as his.

Her eyes flashed. Her chin came up. “I don’t believe you.”

“And why would I lie?”

“That’s a good question. I don’t know what your game is.” Ignoring his glowering stance, she stepped closer. The heat off her skin staggered him. And her scent—that musky exotic spice she wore—was intoxicating. She caught his face in her hands. Rose on tiptoe to brush her lips against his. She wove a spell with her body that smashed through his defenses like a battering ram. Molded herself so close he felt the hard pearls of her nipples through the thin cotton of her gown.

Why wasn’t she running? Gods, was the woman insane? Didn’t she know what he was? Didn’t she care? He groaned against the temptation to rub his rock-hard shaft against the
v
between her legs.

“Tell me you don’t want me right now,” she whispered, her tongue flicking out to taste him.

He closed his eyes. Inhaled a ragged breath. He couldn’t push her away. Not when she asked for it with that sultry sex-me voice. When he could smell the wet, hot center of her. That left him only one choice.

He reached within. Unchained the darkest part of him. Let it rise to the surface. Take him over. Howling its release, the beast clawed its way through him. Sank its fangs into his soul. Ate away everything human and left only the cold-blooded
fey
behind.

Muscles hardened. Blood pumped hot and hungry through his veins. His gaze narrowed to a pinprick. Focused on her. He grabbed her off her feet. Held her so that he saw the reflection of his clear gold gaze in her frightened eyes.

Behind him, he heard the horses screaming. Banging against their stalls in mindless panic. They were right to be scared.

“You once said you didn’t fear the
Heller
in me,” he snarled.

She swallowed. Made no move to escape. “No. I don’t.” He dropped her so that her legs buckled. She scrambled back against the stall where the bay plunged and reared.

“Well, you should, Ellery. You should be very afraid.”

Ellery picked at the plate in front of her, her appetite not really up to Cook’s lavish spread. She ate dinner by herself, Glynnis’s death scattering the family as they prepared for the funeral.

She’d not seen Conor since yesterday and that was from across the hall. He’d shot her a grim focused look, but it was impossible to read the thoughts behind his eyes.

Just as well.

He’d made his intentions very clear—or should she say, lack of intentions. He’d done everything but club her over the head with his indifference. But none of it rang true. She recognized desire. Knew lust. And it was obvious that whatever Conor said, he wanted her. Just not enough. And that was all right. She hadn’t expected anything more. She’d dreamed a little. Fantasized even more. But she should have known it would come to nothing in the end. She didn’t care what Lowenna said, love was too risky a gamble. The stakes too high.

Jamys came in, breaking off her gloomy introspection. He looked disheveled, a day’s growth of beard shadowing his jaw. “I guess I didn’t have to worry about getting here before it was gone.” He offered her a tired smile. “May I join you?”

“Of course. You look dead on your feet. Haven’t you slept at all?”

“It’s not been easy reassuring the tenants that Aunt Glynnis’s death wasn’t the result of
fey
malice. They’re a superstitious lot to begin with. And there’s enough that goes on around here to keep them that way.” He piled his plate with enough food for two men.

“That coupled with the inquest in Penzance and coercing a priest to come to Daggerfell to oversee the funeral, and I haven’t seen my bed in days.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I think I managed to catch ten minutes standing in a corner. That must count for something.” His expression was teasing but warm.

“Here. This should help.” Ellery poured him a cup of coffee that he accepted gratefully.

“At least, you seem to have recovered from Simon’s attack with flying colors,” he said. “Not many women would handle such an ugly episode so well.”

“I’m a tribute to my sex,” she said, “And my upbringing. I wasn’t raised to scare easily.”

“I can only thank the gods that Conor sensed something was wrong,” Jamys took a long swallow, “and that Simon’s aim has always been bad. I might have lost a brother and a cousin—and you.”

The light in his eyes made her wonder if he suspected anything. She kept from having to answer by scooping another forkful of ham into her mouth.

“Asher’s influence grows.” Jamys clutched his mug with both hands, his jaw firm. Looking decidedly like his deadlier cousin. “We’ve heard his army of
Keun Marow
have struck twice since your arrival. With each killing, they become stronger. Bolder.”

Just thinking of those creatures put her off her food. She dropped her fork to her plate. Swallowed around the knot in her throat. So much for not scaring easily. “Beltane can’t come fast enough.”

“Beltane?”

“Conor says that’s when he’ll send Asher back and reseal the reliquary.”

Jamys sat back, astonishment wiping out his exhaustion. “He’s going to take on Asher? He’s crazier than I thought.”

Apprehension flickered over her skin. “Why?”

“You saw what Simon almost accomplished the other night. That was just a taste of Asher’s power. He’s all but indestructible. Mighty even by
fey
standards. That’s why they imprisoned him in the first place.”

She wished he would stop looking at her as if she were mad. This was Conor’s idea, not hers. And until now, she’d thought it made sense. In a magical, nonsensical way. “Conor says the magic found within the thin places will help him.”

With all she’d experienced in these last days, her explanation still sounded odd. Like something out of a faery story. But then, she was in a faery story, wasn’t she?

Jamys never blinked. “I’ve been studying the ancient writings. Searching Niamh’s archives. The only thing that’ll send Asher back is fulfillment of the
molleth
.”

“A
molleth
?” Her stomach fluttered. Just the word sounded threatening.

“A curse,” he answered. “In this case, the curse placed upon the reliquary when it was created. To reforge the seals, you need the blood sacrifice of the one who violated the casket. Conor’s told us the soldier who freed Asher has died.”

The fluttering froze to an icy knot. “So the
molleth
can’t be fulfilled? There’s no way to stop Asher?”

“No. Only the blood of the trespasser or one who carries his blood will work. And Conor’s told us the man died without heirs.”

The pieces fell together, the picture they created making Ellery sick. She’d been a fool to ever think she had the upper hand with Conor. He’d been using her since the night they met. And in a week, he meant to use her one last time. She was the bait and the trap.

You should be very afraid,
he’d warned her. Well, if she hadn’t been before, she certainly was now.

Blood roared in her ears. The blood that Conor needed. She pushed back from the table, ignoring Jamys’s look of surprise. She was no lamb to be led to slaughter. She’d leave. Today. And Conor would need to find another way to destroy Asher. Another cat’s paw to dupe.

Ellery rolled her borrowed clothes, a knife she’d secreted from the dining room, and a small bit of food she’d been able to sneak out of dinner into a shawl, securing the corners and creating a bundle. Then thought better of it and took the dinner knife back out. She’d keep that close by in case she needed it.

Once clear of Daggerfell, she’d head for London. Or perhaps Bristol. Maybe take ship for America. Brazil. Anywhere Conor Bligh and his damned
fey
madness wasn’t. If only she’d kept hold of that blasted pearl, it would have been easy paying her way. But it didn’t bear thinking on. She didn’t have the pearl.

She cringed, understanding now why Conor had kept his distance. How he must have been laughing at her. The poor besotted twit serving herself up for him on a platter. What other secrets was Conor keeping? Or anyone else for that matter. Did they all know she was doomed to die in a few days’ time? Was that the meaning of the looks that passed between the family? Had everyone’s kindness been a sham? She gave a thought for poor dead Glynnis and her warnings. Was she the only one telling the truth? And, God forbid, was that why she died?

How far would Conor go to secure his needed sacrifice? The questions slammed against her mind from all sides until her temples throbbed with them.

Ellery scanned the room one last time. At the fashionable furnishings, the heavy blankets upon her bed, the fire in the grate. She doubted she’d see such luxuries again. With what money remained to her, a garret in some East End tenement was all she’d afford if she were lucky.

A damp chill had stolen in with the setting of the sun, replacing the unseasonable spring weather they’d been enjoying. She pulled Conor’s greatcoat out of the back of the clothespress. It was enormous, but it was warm. And she could sell it once the weather changed for good. Serve him right.

Low voices carried from farther up the corridor, but her way was clear, the servants’ stair lit only by a thin taper as she slipped down toward the kitchens. Once in the passages beneath the house, she wound her way past storerooms and sculleries to a back door secured by an iron bar. Heavy, but not impossible to lift.

The back kitchen gardens were dark, darker than she’d imagined when she contemplated her flight in her well-lit bedchamber. But it was impossible to go back. She wouldn’t remain a guest—or a prisoner—at Daggerfell any longer. Hitching her pack higher on her shoulder, she ignored the fear that sliced through her, warning her she was leaving one threat to face another.