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Morgan shrugged. “He’s military. Proper blue blood. Said he loved me. Forgot to mention he was already married. The end.” She slid him a glance. “So why aren’t you trying to mend things with Ellery?”
“You’re not going to forget it, are you?”
She shook her head. “No, so you may as well answer me.” He plowed a hand through his hair. “It’s not exactly easy to explain away murder. And Ellery isn’t amenable to sitting still long enough for me to explain anything.”
“Those sound like excuses. She’s heartsick. Wants to plant you a facer, but she’d come round if you gave her the chance.”
“I’m not going to give her that chance. Not the chance to forgive me and not the chance to get hurt all over again when things go sour.”
“You don’t know—”
“You know as well as I do the odds of my coming back alive from Ilcum Bledh. I barely survived the last battle with Asher. Ellery’s anger means she won’t be hurt when…”
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. She’s upset—bloody hell, who wouldn’t be—but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t care. Or that she won’t be torn apart with grief if you don’t come back down that hill when it’s all said and done.” She looked away. And back again, her gaze somber. “She won’t be the only one, Con.”
Conor slammed his hand against the wall, cutting off her argument. Turning it back to the reason he’d sought her out. Unwilling to think beyond tonight. Or to add the burden of his family’s guilt on top of everything else. “Sinclair and you. It’s over?”
Morgan subsided, sullen and annoyed. “It is.”
“Good. Then I can reassure your brothers you’re not about to do something stupid. As for Ellery and me? Leave it alone.”
“Conor?”
The look he settled on her spoke volumes, he hoped. He wasn’t up to much more.
“Leave it. Alone.”
Conor lay on his bed, hands behind his head, staring up into the dark. He’d yet to undress or even shed his boots. He hoped for the silence to enfold him, to have the brooding sweep of his thoughts drag him under where loneliness and grief couldn’t touch him.
He closed his eyes. No use. Sleep wouldn’t come. Every muscle jumped with an edgy anticipation, and his mind ricocheted from thought to thought, leaving him scattered. Powerless. Not a state he was used to or handled well.
He’d tried drowning his confusion in drink.
No luck.
An asset in a fight, his body’s extraordinary healing made getting plastered impossible. And his words with Morgan had only pushed him further into this net of warring emotions.
Responsibility. Revenge. Honor. Love.
Twice, he’d almost gone to Ellery. But it would have embarrassed them both and done nothing to solve the greatest obstacle. Asher.
His mind spun out, searching for a way to defeat the renegade fey. One that wouldn’t spell his own death. Was there a way? Had he missed something?
He thought of the amhas-draoi, but that brought him nowhere. Knowing he had the sacrifice and refused to use her would not put him in the brotherhood’s good graces. Actually, he wasn’t sure what they would do if they found out. Would they help him, or would Scathach and the rest of them force him to follow through with Ellery’s murder?
His stomach muscles clenched just thinking about it. His shoulders, back, and neck tight as wire.
No. He’d not summon them. He’d keep his decision quiet. Ellery’s identity a secret.
He’d face Asher alone.
How had it gotten so complicated? But he knew already. He carried the answer with him always.
He dug in his pocket, drew Ysbel’s ring out and rolled it between his fingers. Such a tiny trinket, but it chained him to a path with the strength of irons. Marched him toward a showdown with Asher that he’d undertake even if an escape could be found tomorrow.
He’d meet the demon at the ancient stones of Ilcum Bledh. Face the creature who’d stripped away the most important person from his life. Used her and made her suffer. And with her murder had crushed a connection that had held him solid in a world he felt less and less comfortable in.
He pinned his gaze on the blackest corner of his ceiling, but his mind remained trained inward—on the days after Ysbel’s death. He’d wanted to give the Heller within him full rein, ride the night on a rush of destruction and death. Send anyone to hell who stood in his way. He’d nursed that hate, fanning it to life any time he faltered or thought to turn away from what he’d become—more animal than man.
