“Yes. Utterly. I lied to her about who I was. I tricked her into telling me about her father. She can’t feel her Shadows. There’s no way anyone could fake that. And—” he shuddered, remembering everything that had happened in her office. Remembering the pain. “I felt it myself. What it’s like when a vision tries to break through.”
“What does that mean?” Ethan asked. “How did you feel it?”
“She’s….” Zach let his head drop as he finally admitted the truth. “She’s mine.”
Fuck. Except that she wasn’t and almost certainly never would be. Not since he’d destroyed her trust. And there wouldn’t be anyone else for him either, not now that every other person in the world would be defined, very simply, asnotEmma.
“Okay.” Ethan’s reply was full of understanding. “I’ll speak to Bryn. See what he’s got buried in that library of his.”
It wasn’t enough but it was something. Zach had no idea how in hell he was going to convince Emma to speak to him again, let alone travel to Wales to see Ethan and Bryn. But it was a goal to focus on. One that could keep him moving. For now, anyway. He could set aside the emotions that were trying to blind him and focus on giving her something that could help to make up for the pain he’d caused.
If he didn’t, he’d have to accept that he’d failed in every single way. He would have to accept that they were no closer to Gordon than they had been. And he had torn Emma’s world apart for no reason whatsoever.
ChapterNine
Emma shovedher fingers under the cold tap and sighed. It was bad enough that she’d scorched two trays of muffins and then overworked her pie dough to the point that Becky had gently moved her away and suggested she stick to serving coffee. Now, in a moment of distraction, she’d picked up a hot bread tin in her bare hands and burned herself—adding another scar to her collection.
Becky had spent the whole day giving her concerned looks and gently asking about her date until she finally gave in and explained thatNathanhad a work emergency and left early.
She didn’t explain anything else. How could she? She hardly understood it herself. She couldn’t tell Becky about Shadows or the Order. And she could never explain just how badly Zach had hurt her without revealing their history.
“Why don’t you take the evening off?” Becky’s voice broke into her gloomy thoughts. “I can lock up.”
Emma lifted her eyes to look at the woman who was the closest thing she had to a friend and tried to smile. There had only been one constant in her life for all the years since she’d fled the Order, and she wanted to cling to it now. “There’s work to do.”
“There’s always work to do.” Becky agreed. “But honestly, honey, you’re not doing anyone any favors. You’re making mistakes and someone could get hurt.”
Becky glanced meaningfully at Emma’s reddened fingers. “I can put tomorrow’s loaves in the drawer to proof and you already redid all the pie crusts. We open later on a Saturday anyway, so you can check everything in the morning. Let me do this.”
Emma turned off the tap and gently dried her hand on her apron. The burn still stung, but not as badly. Becky was right. She wasn’t doing any good working when she was so distracted and unsettled. “Are you sure?”
Becky nodded. “Happy to do it.” She winked. “I’m thinking of redecorating my living room. I could do with some overtime.”
“Thanks, Becky,” Emma said quietly, untying her apron and setting it aside.
Becky smiled and waved her off as Emma threw her bag over her shoulder and let herself out. It was weird to walk away while the bakery was still open. If she hadn’t felt so utterly drained, it might have even been enjoyable.
Her mother used to do that sometimes—cancel homework and drive them to the beach for the afternoon. She missed her mum so much. Her laugh, her joy in living. Her quiet strength, even at the end. But she was gone. And her father…. Well, it was better not to think about him. She’d often wondered if Gordon had manipulated her mother somehow—Abigail was a lot younger than him—but even as a child, she’d recognized her mother’s deep well of determination.
What would Abigail have said about Zach? Emma wished she could call her mother now. Wished she could sink into Abigail’s warm arms and wallow in the comfort only a mother could give. She would give almost anything to hear her voice one more time. If her mum was here, Emma could ask her what on earth she was supposed to do now that Zach had come back into her life in such an awful way.
Hell. He’d been treating her like some kind of suspect and she didn’t even know why. What if Zach was working with Gordon? What if she had to move again? Leave her bakery behind and go somewhere even further away? The thought sank like a block of ice in her gut. She had made a life for herself, and the thought of doing it all again was exhausting.
Emma sighed. She couldn’t speak to her mother, but she could still feel close to her. She could go to the place where her mother’s spirit always seemed the nearest. Ignore her chores and go down to the beach. Let the warm sand, cold sea, and salty air wash away her grief. She didn’t have to go home—by herself—and face her thoughts.
She started walking down to the local beach, but halfway there it started to feel wrong. She wanted a beach, but not that one. Something inside her craved the space and open air of the nearby nature reserve. She turned back and made her way to her car, then drove through the small town and found the narrow road down to Studland Bay with its long sandy beach and surrounding heathland.
The wind had picked up during the afternoon. The sea was a mass of rolling white caps and the crowds were already disappearing, fleeing the stinging sand. Emma considered taking her paddleboard out, but it would be hard work on the surging ocean and her whole body already felt battered. Instead, she slipped off her shoes and carried them in one hand as she followed the paths between the marram grass over the dunes and onto the beach.
The sun was still several hours from setting but at this time of the year the days were long and it hung low in the sky behind her. She skirted a clump of dried seaweed and stepped onto the soft, golden sand. The wind snapped and caught at her, blowing her hair across her face. Seagulls cried and swooped where the wavelets rushed up along the shore.
She rolled up her jeans and walked slowly along the beach. The water frothed over her ankles, cold enough to tingle up her legs, while the spray wet her face like icy tears. It was mournful and lonely and cathartic. Exactly what she needed.
Until she saw him.
Zach was sitting on a low dune, beach grasses waving in the breeze behind him. His knees were bent and his arms were wrapped around them, hands clasped together at the front. Even from a distance, she could see the tense line of his shoulders and the way his head hung low.
The warm, unsettling flutter that appeared whenever he was near unfurled inside her belly, and for the first time, she let herself truly feel it. She acknowledged that deeper, primal draw toward him, and accepted that in some unconscious part of her, she’d known that her Shadows recognized him all along.
