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“You’ve got to go to the doctor,” she pleaded.
“I haven’t been to the doctor in my whole life. Not starting now.” His hair was stuck to his head, his clothes covered in mud. His hand was cut. Blood dripped from the outside of the whiskey bottle he held onto the Persian rugs at his feet.
Crawford was there too, and he watched warily as Cain paced back and forth, swigging from the whiskey bottle, hurling things at the walls. He glared at them as if they were the source of his discontent. “Give me some peace and quiet and I will mend myself by magic.”
But Elspeth couldn’t let it go, because all around her it felt like everything was falling apart. She was angry, and they looked to him for guidance. “Why is Grayson Murdoch so strong? Why is it that we as a full coven can’t stand up to him, a lone witch?”
Cain snatched at her, grabbing her around the back of her neck, his thumb digging into the soft skin of her throat. Her hair was caught up in his fingers and she cried out, her fingers plucking at his hand.
He ignored her plea. His eyes glowed fiercely. “The element of surprise was on his side tonight, that’s all it was.”
Her eyes were stinging with withheld tears. “You think more of raising a dead woman than you do about the people who are alive and closest to you.”
“Don’t you dare challenge me.” He released his grip on her neck only to slap her with the back of his hand.
Elspeth jerked back, pain shooting from her chin to her forehead. His ring had caught her lip and she staggered away. “Fuck you,” she shouted at him, and turned away.
She made it as far as the door.
Crawford caught her by the shoulder, swinging her around. “You sure about that?”
He gave a warning look, reminding her in a glance—as he so often did—that she couldn’t afford to challenge Cain, because Cain could just as easily use her as the vessel for Annabel’s soul.
She took a deep breath.
Only Crawford could make her listen. He was right, of course, and this time Elspeth didn’t dare respond verbally. Instead, her hand went to her throbbing lip. There was blood on her fingers. She was dripping wet, her head was pounding and she had a cut lip. The skin on her hands was raw and she was desperate for a hot bath. She stared over at Cain, angry and hurt and wondering what the hell was going to happen if he didn’t pull it together. Meanwhile Cain was standing in front of his portrait of Annabel, staring at her as if it would soothe him. Would it?
Keeping her voice low she whispered to Crawford, “He’s losing it, he’s obsessed with Annabel and he can’t think straight.”
Why? Why was he so bloody well obsessed with her? He had touted this to them as a worthy project, something that would bind them together and make them strong. Three members of the coven were now in the hospital in Dundee, having suffered injuries and shock. Daphne had sprained her wrist. All of them were injured in one way or another. This was tearing them apart, not making them stronger.
Crawford glanced over his shoulder at Cain, uneasy. “Hold it together, Elsie,” he whispered. He only called her that when he wanted to remind her how long they had known each other. It touched her, as he knew it would. He spoke in a low voice, squeezing her shoulder for reassurance. “What has been done cannot be undone. In good time, Annabel will rise completely. Grayson Murdoch’s interference shouldn’t be this much of a problem. That is the only mystery here.”
Elspeth nodded. Crawford wasn’t sure of Cain either, not anymore, but he was right. Much as she was angry and hurting, she couldn’t afford to be too much of a thorn in his side, not right now. Cain was capable of anything.
“I can hear the pair of you,” Cain said, “whispering like a couple of old fishwives.” He snorted derisively, but he didn’t bother to spare them a glance. Instead he continued to stare at the portrait, reaching out with one hand to trace the edge of the frame, lovingly. “Nothing will go wrong. We just need to be sure that when Annabel surfaces, she doesn’t bond with Murdoch. If the host is with him there’s a chance that Murdoch could hold sway over Annabel’s awakening form. That cannot happen. I want rid of him.”
Elspeth took a deep breath. Cain looked close to insanity, and she didn’t like it. But Crawford was right, the magic was done and would take its course soon enough. Elspeth wasn’t sure she even wanted to be involved anymore, but what would she be, without her coven? Grayson didn’t have a coven. Was that what made him strong?
That’s when Cain turned and looked at them both.
His eyes glowed, fiercely luminous in the darkness, and they were alive with unruly fire, filling the atmosphere with menace. “Annabel is mine, and mine alone.”
Grayson sat with his back against the wall, holding Zoë cocooned in his lap as she dozed through the night. He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, cherishing her.
As soon as dawn rose, he got up and pulled on his clothes. He put a small spell on her so that she would sleep on until he returned, so that she wouldn’t wake alone and be afraid. Then he jogged through the forest and along the main road until he came to the turning down to Carbrey. Even though the sky was clear, streams of water still ran down either side of the road. The drains were struggling to cope.
As he closed on the harborfront, he found that several people were already up and working at the marina, securing their boats and examining the damage that the storm had brought. Guilt shot through him, but he’d done what had to be done at the time. He’d protected Zoë, and they finally knew what Cain Davot’s intentions were. Now, he had to make sure it never happened.
He broke into Her Haven and found Zoë’s handbag and car keys. He also picked up a change of clothes and her walking shoes. As he walked to her car, he looked out for Davot’s crowd, but they weren’t around. Probably up at the Tide Inn, plotting to steal Zoë away and attain their goal. His resolve strengthen
ed all the while. Davot’s magic had been put in motion, and now he had to set about undoing it as quickly as possible. He drove Zoë’s car back up to the main road and parked in the layby where he had first met her, before returning to the cabin to wake her.
Standing in the doorway of the cabin, he stared over at her. Sunlight was pouring in the window, and she basked in it like a sleeping cat, curled up on her side, languorous. The soft, feminine arch of her hip and the dip of her waist drew his attention. She was exquisite, like a woodland nymph who’d taken shelter here in the cabin. It made him think about their first meeting, how she’d been looking so wistfully into the forest.
When he closed the cabin door, she rose up on her elbows and blinked at him, smiling. He put the bundle of clothes down by her side, and then drew her up to her feet, taking her in his arms.
“I didn’t hear you go.”
