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“Aye, Sabrina. I know who it is you steal away to meet.” He hunched deeper into his coat. “As does Máelodor.”
“No!” She
tripped over a root. “You didn’t—”
Daigh caught her, muscles rigid, face harsh with anguish. “He draws me back, his power far greater than mine.”
“But the memories.”
“They’re not enough to fight his presence inside me.”
The orchard row ended at a tall, overgrown hedge. A narrow slatted gate led to the lane and crossroad beyond.
She paused, a hand upon the latch. “What will you do if Brendan comes?”
“Warn him. It’s all I can do.”
A snap of a twig, the scuttle of a fox, followed immediately by a sudden rush of beating wings and the croaking scrape of hundreds of crows as they rose into the air. Sabrina’s heart thundered, but beside her Daigh went completely still, eyes narrowed, his branch leveled for battle.
Animal rage poured off him in sour waves, a brimstone stench that churned her stomach. It pounded against her and over her like a great wave. Crushing her beneath the weight of it. No barriers she could erect strong enough to keep him out. The link between them unbreakable and unstoppable.
Mage energy fractured the air. A wall of flame leaping between them. A blast of deadly, ground-shaking battle magic.
She dropped her bag, clamping hands to her head as if she might hold it steady on her shoulders, her vision overwhelmed by a pair of baleful, snaky eyes. Pupils constricted to narrow slits. The yellow-red light of its iris streaked with fire.
She lurched and cried out, falling on her knees in the dust. Daigh, hunched and shaking across the road, his branch abandoned beside him.
A pair of shining boots stepped into the corner of her eye. She looked up into the frozen blue stare of Gervase St. John.
“I see you received your brother’s note, little sparrow.” The words slicked along her nerves like slime. Viscous and oily. He glanced over at Daigh’s shuddering figure. A long pause followed that she felt as a quiver of wild anticipation. “And you’ve brought a friend.”
Confused and shaking with sickness, Daigh opened eyes sticky with crust. Cold rain needled his face, and his clothing clung wet and chilly to his skin, making the trembling worse.
Above him, clouds rolled thick and unbroken, creating a false twilight. He sat up, rubbing at the base of his neck. Scanned the trees. The sky to the west where a dim glow marked the sun’s descent.
He’d been mistaken.
It was almost full dark. Hours lost.
Sabrina could be anywhere.
“No matter how often I see you, I’m still amazed.” St. John stepped from between the trees, his golden head darkened with rain, his greatcoat mud-spattered and damp. “That spell would have killed any normal human, and yet you . . .” He waved a careless hand in Daigh’s direction.
Rigid with fury and gut-churning nausea, Daigh’s hand fell to his waist.
“Looking for this?” St. John pulled forth a dagger. “I took the liberty of securing it along with the pistols you carried. Seemed wisest to conduct our conversation sans weapons.”
Every killer instinct screamed at Daigh to lunge for the man’s throat. Rip into him with his bare hands if need be. But the Amhas-draoi had Sabrina. Until Daigh knew where she was being held, he’d chain his murderous rage. Let St. John have his gloat.
He shoved the weapon back into his belt. “I see you’ve finally learned to appreciate my more persuasive techniques.”
“Where is she?” Daigh snarled.
“Douglas’s sister? She’s safe enough. She’s enjoying a brief reunion with her brother. Tearful. Emotional. Warms my heart.”
“You’ve no heart.”
St. John’s face fell into clownish lines, his hand to his chest. “Perhaps I had one once, and it was lost. Or stolen? Perhaps I was born without one at all? Who can say?”
