Lost in You (18 page)

“Conor, you fool. You never told her?”

Gram’s look of frustrated disbelief wasn’t helping his temper. Or his search. Morgan had gone to Ellery’s rooms that night to check on her. Since Simon’s attack, Morgan had made a point of stopping in for a few moments to chat. Make sure Ellery was safe.

But tonight her bedchamber had been dark save for a few glowing embers amid the ash in the hearth. Her bed empty. Unslept in. And Ellery was gone.

Morgan had come straight to Conor.

He’d searched the house—twice, his heart racing, a clammy churning in his stomach. Asher. Or Simon. It had to be. Then he’d run across Jamys and Gram. And everything came clear.

“I didn’t see a need to tell her,” he answered, raking a hand through his hair. “I’d already made up my mind to keep her as far from Ilcum Bledh as possible. What would telling her have done, but frighten her?”

“And your silence was so reassuring,” Morgan bit back.

“It’s all my fault,” Jamys groaned from his seat, his head between his hands.

Gram shook her head, her initial burst of anger settling into resignation. “What’s done is beyond our words to mend. She must be found. And quickly.”

“I’m such a simpleton.” Jamys pressed his thumbs to his closed eyes, his shoulders slumped with fatigue and guilt. “I should have known. And me running on without a thought in my head.”

“It’s not your fault,” Conor argued, “it’s mine. And now it’s up to me to get her back.”

“Go.” Gram almost pushed him out the door. “I will see what I can do to aid your search.”

“Don’t expect much. They weren’t helpful when I sought them out.”

“I did not give up everything when I wed your grandfather, Conor. There are still those I can call on. Especially once they know for whom you seek.”

“I told you, Gram. I’ll face Asher on my own. My blade never touches Ellery, do you hear me? She’s no part of this fight.”

Gram nodded her understanding.

Conor breathed in, centering his mind on the creature inside him. Focusing on the shift. Feeling his body respond. He would need every trait of the
Heller
to track Ellery. Hunt her down before the
Keun Marow
did. Bring her home.

Jamys looked up, his bloodshot eyes glazed with remorse. “So she was right? You really mean to try and defeat Asher on your own?”

Already hovering between man and wolf, Conor’s concentration faltered. He swung his smoldering gaze toward his cousin. “Defeat him or die in the attempt.” He stalked toward the door, turning back at the last moment. “Unless you’ve got a better suggestion.”

Where had this damn fog come from? Ellery raised her lantern, its meager light doing little more than reflecting off the wall of damp, swirling cloud.

She’d avoided the main carriage drive, hoping to use the track Conor had told her passed through the orchards before coming out at the edge of the village crossroads. But the fog obscured every landmark. She was sure she’d passed that grove of trees once already. And that outcropping of rock looked vaguely familiar. She was going in circles.

She tried searching the skies for some point to guide her, but the moon had yet to rise, and the stars that were visible seemed off-kilter. Not quite where they were supposed to be from one minute to the next.

She swung the lantern to the left. Then to the right, praying she caught sight of something familiar. Something that would lead her to the village and the road away from here.

As if her presence had stirred the woods to life, the dark suddenly seemed alive. Listening. Waiting. Conor had spoken of the
fey
who shared Daggerfell’s lands. Would their appearance be help or hindrance? Or was this them at all?

A shape rose up out of the dark like a specter. Dear God. Asher. He’d come back. Or was it Conor seeking her? Either one was a death sentence.

A sob tore up her throat as she spun around, dashing back the way she’d come. Roots and limbs reached for her, wet and slippery leaves set her careening into a stand of holly trees. She ripped herself free, ignoring the stinging pain that followed, dropping the lantern.

She was blind. Out of breath. Her side cramped. She tripped and fell into the base of a fence. Picking herself up, she followed the line, using the posts as guides. Coming to a stile, she scrambled up and over. Then dodged back under the solid wooden stair. There was a space just large enough to fit between the fence and the risers. She crammed herself as far into the hole as she could, clutching her bundle to her chest, using it to muffle the sound of her ragged breathing. They would pass her by. They must.

No leaves rustled. No footsteps sounded. If only her power was invisibility. That would be a magic worth having right now.

“Ellery.” Conor’s voice floated out of the fog. Deeper than she remembered. Thick and raspy as if speaking were difficult. “Ellery. It’s me. Don’t run. I won’t hurt you.”

Not yet. But give him until Beltane and all bets were off. She wasn’t saying anything.

“Ellery. Answer me.”

He was right overhead. She tried holding her breath. Closing her eyes as if that would make her disappear.

“I know Jamys told you about the reliquary.”

A thump echoed above her head. Then another. Had he settled himself on the stile? She was trapped. She couldn’t make a run for it. He’d be on her like a hound on a hare. Like a wolf on a panicked rabbit. And all the knives in the world wouldn’t be enough to stop him.

“I won’t lie,” he continued. “Not now. It’s true. That’s why I sought you out.”

With each word Conor spoke, a warmth seeped deeper through her body. Her limbs felt heavy. Weighted. She tried not to listen to the steady drone of his voice, knowing that he used it to charm her, control her. Like he had those men in the tavern. She shook her head as if she could shake free of him.

“Damn it, Ellery. I have to stop his bid for power. To stop the destruction that will follow if he frees his brothers. The Triad…”

He stopped speaking, but his words rolled in her head like endless echoes. Like the sea. She wanted to hear more. Her control faltered. She touched a hand to the bottom of the riser. Only the thickness of one plank kept her from him. From that voice.

“I can’t go through with it.” His words slammed into her with the force of bullets. “I won’t.”

The need to reach him rushed out like a receding wave, leaving her head pounding. His words had no power. Her mind—complete with headache—was her own.

“I’d already decided. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I’ll handle Asher my way.”

Even without the hypnotic power of Conor’s voice, she wanted to believe him. She wanted him to tell her she was right to trust him. She wanted him.

“If you want to leave, Ellery, I won’t stop you. Ruan can take you with him when he returns to Plymouth.”

His words were choppy. Bitten off. The voice Conor’s, but not. Was it a trick? She couldn’t stay under here forever. And Conor wasn’t leaving soon by the sounds of him. He had her cornered. And he knew it. Better to face a danger and get it over with for good or bad.

She crawled out of her hiding place, straightening to face her lover or her executioner. The next few moments would tell.

It was Conor. He sat on the stile, his face lost in darkness, but the heat of him palpable.

She wrapped her humiliation and her rage around her like a blanket. She’d not be made a fool of again. “Don’t ever try your spells on me. I’m not some simple-minded farmer you can charm into submission.”

“No. Not simple-minded. Mule-headed. Blind-lucky, perhaps.” He paused. “Shit.”

“So I’m the only thing that can send Asher back,” she asked, hoping she sounded firm. Brave. “Is that why he wants me dead?”

He took a deep breath before answering. “That’s right.” She shuddered, imagining what that moment would have been. Seeing Conor approach. Watching him raise the knife. Her mouth went dry. Still unsure whether to flee, she backed up a step. As if keeping her distance would make it easier. Her eyes adjusting to the dark, Conor’s form emerged from the gloom. And she knew exactly why he’d sounded so odd. So unfamiliar.

Stripped bare to the waist, his body’s already muscled contours seemed heavier, more powerful. The sculpted bones of his face were longer and thicker, hardening the perfection of his features. The magic of the
Heller
burned flame-bright in his eyes.

Her fingers curled around her knife, even though she wasn’t sure she could actually use it. Not on Conor. But if he left her no choice? And even then, would it matter with his body’s ability to withstand wounds? She closed her eyes, praying she wouldn’t have to find out. “I’ll leave. Run to the Continent or maybe even the Americas.”

“You won’t be safe. The Triad’s power isn’t bounded by borders or oceans. Once Asher recaptures the reliquary, he’ll hunt you down. Destroy you. He’ll do anything he must to secure his future.”

They had come to the crux of the matter. She opened her eyes. He hadn’t moved, but his gaze scalded her with its intensity. Knowing the swooping flips of her stomach weren’t all fear, she had to ask the question on the tip of her tongue, no matter the answer. If she wasn’t Conor’s pawn, anymore, what was she? Really.

“How are you any different from Asher?” she asked. He rested his elbows on his knees, glanced away into the dark. “I wasn’t. Not two years ago at the hillside chapel in Spain. Not two weeks ago when I found you.” He paused, the silence weighty with unspoken shame and disappointment on both sides. “You’re safe from me, Ellery. I’ll not harm you.”

She followed the track of his gaze. Even now, the fog thinned, rolled aside by unseen hands. The trees beyond seemed to crouch, waiting for her to answer him. Did she accept Conor’s assurances and return to the house? Or did she take him up on his offer of Ruan’s protection as far as Plymouth and risk a bid for freedom?

“I’ll take you to Gram. You can stay with her until after…” He faltered. “I don’t know how to convince you.”

“When we—I mean that night—after Simon attacked,” she asked. “Were you planning to kill me then?”

He stiffened, his body almost rearing off the step. She jerked away.

He caught himself, settled back. “No,” he said, leaving it at that. “Not then.” He held out a hand, palm up and open, waiting for her to decide. “Trust me?”

She wavered, wishing with all her heart that she could simply place her hand in his and everything would be perfect. Her faith intact.

Her eyes burned; her face felt tight. She tilted her chin up in defiance of her weakness.

His voice when it came was barely above a whisper. “Ellery?”

One word. Three syllables, but they broke her heart.

“Morgan.” Ruan’s call shattered the silence like an explosion. “I’ve found them.”

Conor wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or relieved. All he knew was he couldn’t take Ellery’s devastated look of betrayal much longer. It made him want to scream at her. Shake her until she forgave him. Instead, he sat. Silently. Uncaring. Emotionless.

It didn’t hurt so much that way.

He shivered as the magic of the
Heller
drained away, a frozen emptiness replacing the wolf’s heat. He was no longer two beings caught within one shell. His mind, his body, and his misery were his alone.

His cousin stepped out of the trees, his lantern throwing darkling shadows over his face. He swung the light from Ellery to Conor, his eyes widening a fraction as he took note of Conor’s condition. “You had us worried.”

Conor rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I’ve managed to do that a lot lately. I can take care of myself.”

“Since when?” Ruan turned to Ellery, spotted the knife she held. “A good thought should you be attacked by a dinner roll.” Leave it to Ruan to ignore the situation and go straight for charm. He flashed a smile, but Ellery wasn’t biting. Sighing, he tilted his head, studied her. “Are you all right?”

She wasn’t, but Conor knew it wasn’t his place to say. She tossed away the knife, pushed her damp hair off her face. “I’m fine, I think.”

Ruan glanced around. “I’m surprised we found you. It’s dark as a coal scuttle out here. The others are waiting back at the house.” His gaze flashed from one to the other. “So we should start back?” He made a move to leave. “Perhaps?” He shrugged. “Anyone coming with the man carrying the lantern, or do you two want to stumble about in the dark?”

“You take Ellery back. I’ll be along.”

She gnawed her lower lip, mistrust swirling in her blue eyes, her bundle clutched to her chest like a shield. What the hell would he do if she decided to keep running? Pick her up and carry her like a sack over his shoulder? He’d be damned if he’d let her walk out of here alone and defenseless, no matter what he’d promised. She could hate him all she wanted, but he wasn’t going to let Asher get to her.

The light from Morgan’s lantern splashed yellow light across the grass as she approached through the field. “This is the second time I’ve had to tramp about in the dark looking for the two of you. It’s becoming a bad habit.”

She wore baggy breeches tucked into tall boots and one of Jamys’s cast-off shirts, her hair pulled back in a knot. Her long, loose, ground-eating strides were more suited to a soldier than a young lady of quality, but Morgan had snapped her fingers at Society a long time ago. “Everyone’s worried. I had to threaten Gram to keep her from coming along.” She shot a disgusted look in Conor’s direction. “Men. Of all the chuckle-headed things to do.” To Ellery, she said, “You’re safe with him, you know.”

Whether it was Morgan’s reassuring presence or her words, Ellery relaxed a fraction. Her grip on her bundle loosened, and she no longer looked like she’d bolt if given the chance.

“I don’t know what Conor told you, but it’s dangerous beyond the protection of Daggerfell. If it’s true that you’re…” she paused, flustered, “if Asher is searching for you, then you’re better off here.”

“Conor did tell me that—finally,” Ellery answered, her voice hard and sharp-edged as glass.