The thought sent a blood-red lightning bolt through him, and he had to force himself to go limp again.
“I’m used to being on my own.”She had a nice voice.Husky, with an edge of faint sweet rasp that made a man think of allsortsof interesting things.
“Aren’t we all.”Jake sounded well and truly amused, not the facsimile of bared-teeth grimace that passed for it in a satellite temple most days.“This way, then, and keep quiet.”
“If this is one of those weird psychological games, I’m going to stab you.”
“It’ll make the first time I’ve been stabbed by a fork.”
A fork?Oh, yeah.She hadn’t eaten her lunch, either.Must be starving.
“Might not be the last,” she muttered darkly, and the sounds of movement drew closer.
Erik knew the instant she stepped over him in sock feet, holding her breath as if she expected him to erupt.The mark on his wrist gave another heatless pang, burrowing inward, and he kept his breathing virtually imperceptible.They were at the end of the hall when she whispered again.“You couldn’t have brought me some shoes?”
“Look, babe, I’m getting you out of here,” Jake whispered back.“You want to complain, I can put you right back.”
Erik flowed to his feet, not bothering to brush at his coat or pants.He ghosted after them, soft and steady, hearing her pulse.Jake’s was kept controlled and muffled, of course, but hers was a wild beacon.Erik could almost taste the hope flowing through her, a rich dark river singing in time with her pounding heart.
It was a cold night, but that didn’t stop her from following Jake through the quad, stepping carefully.Younger Brother didn’t pause to help her over the overgrown patches, or put a hand out to brace her when she stumbled.Erik almost gave the whole game away, almost twitched forward to catch her, but remembered himself just in time and stayed put, just at the periphery of Jake’s sensing-range.
She landed hard on her knees, let out a breathless curse that would have scorched pavement into crumbling if it hadn’t already been cracked, and scrambled after Jake’s retreating steps.Her strides landed with soft damp sounds—sounded like she’d rolled more than one pair of wool tubes onto her little feet.
Smart girl.Dangerouslysmart.
The large, ornate wrought-iron gate stood ajar, a sure sign that Father did indeed know about this night’s little excursion.Not that Erik doubted… but the other duty of an Elder was to watch for inconsistencies and tiny tells, just as a Father or a Younger would be weighing his own behavior, searching for signs of inconstancy, slippage.
Or treachery.
“This is as far as I go,” Jake said softly.“Just follow the road, ma’am.”
The indistinct shadow that was their newliraistepped through the iron gate quickly, as if afraid Jake would change his mind.“Thank you.”
The catch in the words put a rock in Erik’s own throat.Don’t, he wanted to say.They’re out there, beautiful, and you’re fragile.It was a moment’s work to reach the top of the stone wall and drop soundlessly on the other side, moving through the undergrowth like a ghost.
“Anytime.”Jake made a small shooing motion.“Go on, now.Be careful.”
She turned and bolted, each footstep jolting in Erik’s own body.The mark on his wrist flamed, warning him.
Of course Father knew.It was Ignatius’s job—the most difficult one of the night—to bring a shadowbeast close if one wasn’t already prowling the edges of the temple, sensing a Dreamer inside heavily reinforced walls and defenses.Erik paralleled the road, moving with the ease of long habit and enhanced agility.
He knew the exact moment one of the foul things noticed her.
There were at least three converging on the road.Either Father wanted to test Erik’s skill—unlikely, if there was even the slightest chance aliraicould be harmed—or he’d been occupied in whittling down a crowd of shadowbeasts to a manageable number.
Erik’s hands burned, dropping to knifehilts.She wasn’t going very fast.Oh, she was running, all right, probably flat-out.
But it was barely walking speed for a Son of Ymre, and practically standing still for the nightmare creature rearing in front of her, its eyes dripping crimson and claws whistling as they clove thick, freezing night air.
Psychological Games
Each step smackedher aching feet, jolted her knees, slammed into her hips, and shook the rest of her for good measure.Liv had successfully escaped, and each gulp of cold night air tasted bubble-alcoholic as sweet champagne.She didn’t care that her feet would be ribbons by the time she reached anywhere likely to have a phone, that hypothermia was a factor, or that the other two men might find out the blond guy had let her go.
You want to get out of here?I’m only gonna ask once.
No, the only thing Liv Stellack cared about was that she’d gotten free, she wasoutside, and she flung herself away from the wrought-iron gate at full speed.It wasn’t so much being kidnapped, though God knew that was enough to make anyone run.
No, it was the persistent nagging dread spurred by that horrible bright crimson mark on the dark-haired man’s wrist.That was the final straw.And his describing one of her goddamn recurring dreams—it had to be a common one, right?Had to be.
