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My mouth is dry, and I want to swallow, but when my body automatically starts to I force myself to stop. I can’t do anything that will push that metal edge any deeper into my skin.
“I’m not,” I say, carefully trying to not use my neck muscles.
“Prove it.”
“How?”
His chest rises and falls as I count the breaths he takes, trying to focus on anything besides my own terror. The trickle of power tingling in my core isn’t enough to do anything. I could try to take him down. I’m stronger by far after the training I did with the Druid, but I don’t have the confidence to take on the much bigger man in hand-to-hand.
“Do your magic,” he answers at last.
“And that proves what?”
“That you’re a witch.”
“Rob, I’m not. I’m not a witch. I’m not a Fae. If I was, do you think I’d stand here with your sword at my throat?”
“What do I know of the ways of evil?” he snaps.
The trickle of power surges. Not a big surge, but enough, and as it flows faster dark thoughts whisper in my head.
Kill him. Destroy him. How dare he?
I could crush him. I don’t need him to rescue Duncan. He’s extraneous and now he’s become a problem. No one will know if I dispose of him here and now. When I return to the clan all I have to say is we ran into hunters, and he didn’t make it. It would be easy.
The power rises, flowing through my body like an electrical storm, and I know, with so much certainty it’s scary, that I can take him. The dark thoughts are insidious but even as I consider them, I know they’re wrong. That’s not me, or not the person I want to be.
Behind Rob’s anger is fear. The same fear I’ve been feeling. Fear and a sense of inadequacy. He’s a man who’s defined his entire life by his feats of strength and standing by his friends and clan. All of that has been ripped away and now he’s lost.
Moving slow I raise my right hand. His eyes flicker to the movement but that’s the only reaction. He grips the claymore, a sword so big wielding it one-handed would be almost impossible, with both hands. I place my hand on his arm. I don’t push or try to force him to move the sword. That’s not my goal. I want the connection. The human touch between us. I want him to feel my touch and know I’m not a witch.
“Rob, I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for, Quinn? Causing all this? For what happened to me?”
And there it is. The truth falls out of his mouth and reveals the open wound that lay festering in his soul. The torture he endured, the pain, and the guilt of the survivor. And, on some level I know he’s admitting that he broke. He broke and now he can’t stand himself or anyone else.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Ach, I know it’s not,” he yells. “I do not need you telling me that.”
His arms tremble, moving the sword slightly away from my neck which lets me breathe easier at least.
“I know,” I say, closing my hand around his forearm, careful to not be forceful. Tears glisten in his eyes. “I know you don’t. But it’s okay.”
“No. It’s not okay. It’s not. You don’t know.”
The first tear falls from his eye, trailing across the stubble on his cheek. His arms relax and I push, moving the flat of the sword onto my shoulder. He doesn’t resist, and a moment after I do, he shifts and the weapon drops off me, burying the point in the ground. He glares for a moment longer then turns his back.
I move closer, intending to hug him from behind but at the last moment I don’t, placing a hand on him instead. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea, but I do want to comfort him. It’s late in the dusk hours and shadows push in, enclosing us in a dark world that seems to be ours alone.
Rob shudders, suppressing his grief and remorse. I pat his back and say nothing, letting him experience this while offering the support of a friend. Moments tick past, and while the itch in my head that is my constant worry and fear for Duncan and his well-being continues, I know that I can’t do this without Rob.
“Rob, if you need to talk.”
“Ach—” he says, but before he says more his head pops up and he stiffens.
He moves so fast I begin to yelp but his rough, calloused hand is over my mouth. He sweeps me off my feet, hooking an arm around my waist and hitching me up with one hand while the other grabs his sword. He runs. I’m bouncing painfully on his hip as he hunches over and moves.
