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Even without the hypnotic power of Conor’s voice, she wanted to believe him. She wanted him to tell her she was right to trust him. She wanted him.
“If you want to leave, Ellery, I won’t stop you. Ruan can take you with him when he returns to Plymouth.”
His words were choppy. Bitten off. The voice Conor’s, but not. Was it a trick? She couldn’t stay under here forever. And Conor wasn’t leaving soon by the sounds of him. He had her cornered. And he knew it. Better to face a danger and get it over with for good or bad.
She crawled out of her hiding place, straightening to face her lover or her executioner. The next few moments would tell.
It was Conor. He sat on the stile, his face lost in darkness, but the heat of him palpable.
She wrapped her humiliation and her rage around her like a blanket. She’d not be made a fool of again. “Don’t ever try your spells on me. I’m not some simple-minded farmer you can charm into submission.”
“No. Not simple-minded. Mule-headed. Blind-lucky, perhaps.” He paused. “Shit.”
“So I’m the only thing that can send Asher back,” she asked, hoping she sounded firm. Brave. “Is that why he wants me dead?”
He took a deep breath before answering. “That’s right.” She shuddered, imagining what that moment would have been. Seeing Conor approach. Watching him raise the knife. Her mouth went dry. Still unsure whether to flee, she backed up a step. As if keeping her distance would make it easier. Her eyes adjusting to the dark, Conor’s form emerged from the gloom. And she knew exactly why he’d sounded so odd. So unfamiliar.
Stripped bare to the waist, his body’s already muscled contours seemed heavier, more powerful. The sculpted bones of his face were longer and thicker, hardening the perfection of his features. The magic of the Heller burned flame-bright in his eyes.
Her fingers curled around her knife, even though she wasn’t sure she could actually use it. Not on Conor. But if he left her no choice? And even then, would it matter with his body’s ability to withstand wounds? She closed her eyes, praying she wouldn’t have to find out. “I’ll leave. Run to the Continent or maybe even the Americas.”
“You won’t be safe. The Triad’s power isn’t bounded by borders or oceans. Once Asher recaptures the reliquary, he’ll hunt you down. Destroy you. He’ll do anything he must to secure his future.”
They had come to the crux of the matter. She opened her eyes. He hadn’t moved, but his gaze scalded her with its intensity. Knowing the swooping flips of her stomach weren’t all fear, she had to ask the question on the tip of her tongue, no matter the answer. If she wasn’t Conor’s pawn, anymore, what was she? Really.
“How are you any different from Asher?” she asked. He rested his elbows on his knees, glanced away into the dark. “I wasn’t. Not two years ago at the hillside chapel in Spain. Not two weeks ago when I found you.” He paused, the silence weighty with unspoken shame and disappointment on both sides. “You’re safe from me, Ellery. I’ll not harm you.”
She followed the track of his gaze. Even now, the fog thinned, rolled aside by unseen hands. The trees beyond seemed to crouch, waiting for her to answer him. Did she accept Conor’s assurances and return to the house? Or did she take him up on his offer of Ruan’s protection as far as Plymouth and risk a bid for freedom?
“I’ll take you to Gram. You can stay with her until after…” He faltered. “I don’t know how to convince you.”
“When we—I mean that night—after Simon attacked,” she asked. “Were you planning to kill me then?”
He stiffened, his body almost rearing off the step. She jerked away.
He caught himself, settled back. “No,” he said, leaving it at that. “Not then.” He held out a hand, palm up and open, waiting for her to decide. “Trust me?”
She wavered, wishing with all her heart that she could simply place her hand in his and everything would be perfect. Her faith intact.
Her eyes burned; her face felt tight. She tilted her chin up in defiance of her weakness.
His voice when it came was barely above a whisper. “Ellery?”
One word. Three syllables, but they broke her heart.
“Morgan.” Ruan’s call shattered the silence like an explosion. “I’ve found them.”
Conor wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or relieved. All he knew was he couldn’t take Ellery’s devastated look of betrayal much longer. It made him want to scream at her. Shake her until she forgave him. Instead, he sat. Silently. Uncaring. Emotionless.
It didn’t hurt so much that way.
He shivered as the magic of the Heller drained away, a frozen emptiness replacing the wolf’s heat. He was no longer two beings caught within one shell. His mind, his body, and his misery were his alone.
His cousin stepped out of the trees, his lantern throwing darkling shadows over his face. He swung the light from Ellery to Conor, his eyes widening a fraction as he took note of Conor’s condition. “You had us worried.”
Conor rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I’ve managed to do that a lot lately. I can take care of myself.”
“Since when?” Ruan turned to Ellery, spotted the knife she held. “A good thought should you be attacked by a dinner roll.” Leave it to Ruan to ignore the situation and go straight for charm. He flashed a smile, but Ellery wasn’t biting. Sighing, he tilted his head, studied her. “Are you all right?”
