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??No, you were the smart one here. I shouldn’t have let it go so far. But—” He plowed a hand through his hair. Blew out a breath. “If things were different…” His words trailed off. There was nothing he could say that would change the future.
“If wishes were thrushes…” She managed a shaky laugh. “But that’s not how real life works, is it? Still friends?” She held out a hand.
His stomach clenched, wanting to be on top of her. In her. Wanting the taste of her on his tongue. He accepted her hand, holding back his desire to throw her down. Possess her. Bring her to the point where her commonsense could go to hell, and all that mattered was the mindless explosion of senses. “Still friends,” he answered.
She squared her shoulders, chin held high. Her gaze was suspiciously bright, but determined. “Good night, Conor.” She crossed to the door. With one hand on the knob, she turned back. “I’ll stay until Beltane. But then, I’m gone. For good.”
She shut the door behind with a click that echoed loud as a gunshot.
Guilt and frustration tore at him. His bedchamber became a prison, the bed a reminder of what could have been. His throat tightened with a choking rage. He slammed his fist against a wall, the pain nothing compared to the satisfaction of crumbling plaster. He punched it again, startled at the energy surging down his spine, sensing the effortless twisting and shifting of his muscles. The loss of thought beneath the animal’s instinct to lash out. The change had never been this easy. A slight draw on his power, and the Heller would be realized. The fey in him released.
He drew in a shuddering, bitter breath. Let it out slowly through clenched teeth. His father was right. He stood at the edge. And why not take that last step? Bring forth the power he needed to not just imprison Asher but destroy him once and for all.
Being human was highly overrated.
Chapter Eighteen
Ellery stood on the terrace, watching the trees. She wasn’t a naturalist by any stretch of the imagination. She’d spent too many nights in the open to appreciate such rustic beauty. But these thick stands of ancient woods seemed different—alive. Shadows dappled the paths she saw stretching away from the manicured park. Shadows that behaved unlike any she’d ever seen. Quick flashes of dark and light that lifted the leaves and sent them scrambling.
She wanted to stroll among those paths. Stretch her legs and ponder her future. Where did she go from here? She should do what she had not had the courage to do at the tavern. Leave and begin a new life somewhere else. The city, perhaps. A place of crowds and noise and anonymity. She’d had a bellyful of the small minds and big mouths of villagers.
But Asher remained an obstacle. She’d seen murder in his eyes, knew now that whether she possessed the reliquary or not, he wanted her. Wanted to see her suffer before he killed her. That certainty held her fast in a web of fear. Tied her to this house and these people until Asher’s imprisonment. Tied her to Conor.
Butterflies quivered in her stomach, and a rush of excitement took away her breath. Reactions she didn’t want, but couldn’t seem to stop. She flushed with the ghost-feel of his hands on her body, the press of his mouth hungry and urgent. Even her dreams were betraying her.
She hadn’t asked for this. She’d had her fill of men. Witnessed their careless love, resolving that she’d not fall into the same trap as her mother. She was smarter. Stronger. Too clever than to be seduced by a flashy smile and honeyed words.
But Conor had never once tossed her a charmer’s grin, and she doubted whether he would know a honeyed word if the bee stung him between the eyes.
He was a man who carried a beast beneath his skin. She’d seen it for herself. The warping of his body as the change took hold. The ruthless clarity of his gaze. And she knew what he was capable of. Death. Murder. He’d admitted to it all. Her father’s staring eyes swam before her. And the bloody carnage in the chapel.
But they were immediately overlapped by other recollections. Conor holding her safe. His battle-scarred hands healing her wounds. Conor laughing at her silly stories. Telling his own. And finally, Conor, sick yet shielding her from Asher with the last of his strength.
She skimmed her hand along the stone baluster, enjoyed the warmth of the sun across her shoulders. Humming sounded from an upper window. A dog answered a shouted call. Laughter floated from the open doors to the library. She imagined herself living here. Among this noisy, comfortable, haphazard household.
No. She would enjoy this brief idyll. And hold tight to her feelings. Keep her heart protected. It was the only way she would be able to walk away from Daggerfell without regrets.
There was that glimmer again. A wisp of something at the edge of her vision. A tinkle of bells. She squinted, trying to make it out. A bird? She didn’t think so.
“You’re the girl just arrived?”
The hard, brittle voice whipped her around. A woman of middle years stood with one hand upon the open terrace door. She wore a heavy velvet dressing gown, the ribbons yanked ruthlessly closed against the spring afternoon chill. Her hair, a mix of gray and pale blonde, hung loose over shoulders tight with temper.
“I am.” Ellery was familiar with the disappointment marking the woman’s bony face. Cousin Molly had wrapped herself in that same air of ill-usage and martyrdom. “I’m Ellery Reskeen.” She held out a hand in greeting.
The woman slapped it away. Took a step back. Paused. Approached Ellery, almost backing her against the terrace baluster. “These children of the devil. They took my husband. Took my sons. They’ll not get me. God will strike them down if they try.” She jabbed her finger at Ellery, spittle forming in the corner of her mouth. “He knows them for what they are. Their true selves.”
“Do you mean the Blighs?”
“I give you fair warning. As Peter counsels us, Be vigilant because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom he may devour.”
This was obviously sleep-walking Aunt Glynnis. She looked wide awake now.
And mad as a loon.
No one had mentioned that particular fact to Ellery. And probably for good reason. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, keeping her voice as soothing as she could while sidling out of reach. “I’ll keep my guard up and pickets posted.”
She wasn’t quick enough. Glynnis stepped back in her path, a frenzied look in her watery blue eyes. “You think I’m mad. I can tell. But I know what I’ve seen in this house.” She peered around as if expecting eavesdroppers. Leaning closer, she whispered—hissed, really. “And I know what I’ve heard. Conor means you harm. The animal in him thirsts for blood. Run. Leave here. Save your soul before it’s corrupted by this place. These people.”
