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“Miranda —” Sin winced as his throat clamped shut. He literally could not give an excuse. And it was agony. As was her disappointment and disgust in him. “I am not worth your regard.”
It was all he could say. And it was the truth. His stupidity had put him in this predicament. It did not matter if he was free, if he’d destroyed the fae queen. He’d let them all down long ago.
She flinched. “I wanted so badly for you to feel as though you belonged.”
He would not cry. Nor throw himself at her feet and beg for her to make it all better.
Her voice went soft, but no less angry. “I believed you to be a true brother to us, as we were your true sisters.”
I am. But he wasn’t. The truth was he might have ended himself and spared them all. But he’d been too much of a coward.
Her red-gold locks slithered over her slim shoulders as she shook her head. “But you never were. You always held yourself apart.”
“Yes.” Because all of it was true. He was never a true brother to his blood sisters. He’d failed them long ago.
“Have you nothing to say for yourself, St. John?”
I hate that you no longer call me Sin. I hate that you’ve seen the worst of me. I hate myself most of all. He gave a stiff shake of his head.
Her eyes, which had always been filled with warmth and love for him, were chips of glass. So empty he wanted to sob. Worse when she spoke in that terrible, flat voice. “For your sake, I will not tell Ian or Jack what you’ve done. I’ve no wish to see you slaughtered. However, I think it best that you no longer come around the family.”
He could only blink back tears burning in his eyes and watch as, with a swirl of her cloak, she turned and left him standing alone, and the rain began to fall.
Armageddon, some were calling it. The end of days. Others called the rain the devil’s tears. Even practical, scientifically minded men and women looked towards the skies with trepidation, for no one could account for the blood-red rain that continued to fall from the sky.
Fear ran rampant, people went to church or stayed locked firmly behind doors. Officials tried to assure residents that the rain, while red, was in fact water and not blood. It did little to quell the fear. Not with the steady rainfall, staining clothes pink, and running in little, crimson rivers along the cobbles.
It was a macabre sight. Unsettling to say the least.
Adam’s jaw stayed bunched as they kept riding at a steady clip down the high road toward London. Rain dripped from the wide brim of his riding hat and ran in red rivulets down his lean cheeks. It was as if he were bathed in blood. Eliza shuddered, knowing she likely looked just as gruesome. No one would drive a coach so they were forced to ride horses.
And while normally Eliza would not mind riding, she loathed being out in the unnatural rain. Adam had suggested she stay behind. He had to discover what had occurred. Eliza would be safer tucked up in their little cottage.
Perhaps, but she was not going to be left behind. And perhaps he knew that, for he’d merely given her a nod and packed up their saddlebags. Now she could only duck her head, press her lips together, and hope none of the rain would get into her mouth.
Perhaps it was an irrational fear, but it could not be helped. The very air about her seemed malevolent. At least, they made good time, for the roads were deserted. And soon enough, London loomed before them. Black clouds limned in swirling, light-grey bundles sat like fat toads over the great city. Even here, nothing stirred. It was as if the rain held siege.
They rode down Hammersmith Road, heading into Kensington, their horses’ hooves clopping upon the cobbles, a strange counterpoint to the patter of rain. Usually, the clatter and rattle of endless cabs, drays, and omnibuses would compete against the cries of the costers and the distant whistle of the railways. Now, silence and rain.
Pale faces hovered behind grimy windows, wide eyes watching them ride along. Just ahead of her, Adam sat tall on his horse, his broad shoulders and straight back a familiar and comforting sight. She urged her mare alongside of him, needing to keep close. He glanced her way, and his expression was grim. “Unnerving, this.”
“Everyone has gone to ground.”
His eyes scanned the streets. “I don’t detect any supernaturals out and about either.”
Eliza sat straighter on her mount, a bolt of shock catching her breath. “That is it… Adam, the spirits. They’ve gone as well.” She’d yet to see a single soul. The lack of them was what had unnerved her far more than the lack of people. For spirits were not ones to flee. Ever.
Eliza shivered and huddled farther inside of her mackintosh cloak. She’d dressed in trousers. They were more comfortable for the ride. And no one was around to gawk at any rate. “Where are we going?” She hadn’t asked Adam for specifics. There wasn’t time.
“To Mab’s.”
Her horse shied as she half-spun in her saddle. “Have you gone mad?”
His mouth tilted up at the corner. “Not that I can tell, no.”
Eliza slowed her horse, and thus he did as well. She could only gape at him, no longer caring about the blood-rain. “Then tell me why on earth you’d be willing to return to her?” Something odd and ugly, like jealousy mixed with fear, twisted inside of her.
As usual, he read her too well, and a slow grin broke over his face. The bastard really was breathtaking when he smiled in that manner.
“I’ve no desire to see the fae bitch. I do believe she’s gone, love.”
