Page 118 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

She didn’t intend to take down Carson. All she had to do was snatch the Eye from his hand. The knife was in his right hand, as one would naturally hold it. The Eye was in his left, the weaker hand, and he kept waving it about like a handkerchief as he talked. In just a few more feet, she could run at him. He’d turn, no doubt, to face the attack, but instead of attacking, Thisbe would grab the Eye before Carson realized her true goal. She would run, hopefully before Carson could stab her. And Desmond would never be at risk.

“How do you use the Eye?” Desmond asked, still in his harmlessly curious voice.

“It takes blood. My blood. Her blood. It’s all in there.” He gestured again toward the thin book on the rock. “Her family escaped with her journal—her enemies didn’t find that. We changed our name, but we kept our secrets. Her formula. My blood.” Carson sliced another line of red down his chest. Thisbe winced, but Carson didn’t seem to feel the pain.

“So, um, do you need to cut a certain pattern?” Desmond asked. “That must be rather difficult to handle by oneself. Step down, and I can help you.” He reached out his hand.

“No!” Carson roared, his eyes blazing brighter. “I know what you want. You’ll take my blood and use it for yourself.”

The energy from Carson to Desmond grew even stronger, changing into a tighter, thicker figure that encased only them. Even through the rain, Thisbe could see tiny flashes of blue-white light popping up among the steadier flow of colors. Thisbe had no idea what that meant, but she was certain it couldn’t be good. And why hadn’t she seen any of this in her dream?

“No, no,” Desmond said soothingly. “I won’t. I can’t use the Eye, not even with your blood. You know that—I’m not her kin. I just want to help.”

“You don’t! You’re like them. Wallace. Gordon.” Carson spat out the names. “They stole my birthright. It’s my sacrifice.” Suddenly Carson jumped down from the rock ledge to face Desmond, one hand curled around his dagger, the other pointing the Eye threateningly at Desmond. “It’s my power.”

Thisbe sucked in a breath. The line of energy between the two men was concentrated into a flow of brilliant light that consumed the bands of color. But, she realized, as the power had strengthened in its narrowed path, the energy it had cast over the whole area had dwindled. And Carson had changed his position; by stepping down from the rock, he had put the Eye within easier reach for her.

As she took a cautious step forward, she realized that the scene before her was not the same as it had been in her dream. The two men were no longer silhouetted against the sun on the low rock. She stood even with them rather than below. Her perspective was entirely different. Desmond was right: she could change what happened. She already had. She could make everything right. Thisbe crept forward, keeping a careful eye on the men.

“Yes, the power is yours. Entirely yours,” Desmond said calmly. “I only want to help you.”

“Don’t try to stop me,” Carson told him. “You don’t know what the Eye can do. I don’t want to hurt you. You feel how it’s holding you back? I can do more. I can drain the very life from you.”

Thisbe froze in horror. This... Yes, this was what the Eye was capable of. Desmond, however, didn’t look frightened. He shook his head and took a step toward Carson. Astonishment flashed across Carson’s face.

“Stop! I compel you!” Carson held his ground, his face fierce. Above them lightning lit up the sky and thunder roared. Carson was clearly concentrating all his will into the Eye.

Thisbe darted forward. Carson heard her approach at the last minute and whipped around, but Thisbe was already reaching for the Eye. She tore it away, but the force of her pull sent her staggering back and she fell. Carson came after her, dagger raised. Thisbe rolled away just as Desmond leaped forward. He grabbed Carson’s arm and hauled him back.

Thisbe struggled to her feet, the Eye clutched in her hand, and saw before her the very outcome she had feared: Carson and Desmond grappling for control of the athame. Desmond held Carson’s knife hand motionless at the top of its downward arc, but Carson’s strength was that of a madman. Desmond had to use both hands to stave off the dagger, so he could not block the blows from Carson’s other fist. Blood was streaming down Desmond’s face.

“No!” Thisbe screamed and launched herself forward. Clasping her hands together around the Eye, she swung it upward at Carson’s head with all her might. Carson flailed out, shoving away Thisbe. She fell back, hitting the large flat rock, and skidded across its rain-slick surface. Suddenly there was nothing beneath her legs. Desperately she scrabbled for purchase, but her fingers slid across the smooth, wet surface. She heard Desmond scream her name as the world fell out from under her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“THISBE!” DESMOND’S HEART froze in his chest. He shoved aside Carson and ran to the edge of the cliff, the splash in the water below resounding in his ears. There was no sign of Thisbe in the dark tarn, only the widening circles where she had entered the water.

The rocky ledge on which he stood jutted out over the water; there was no way down the cliff on this side. Behind him, Carson was staggering to his feet, but Desmond didn’t even glance at him, just whirled and ran to right side of the tor, where a rocky scree sloped down to the water. It was not a sheer drop as it was under the ledge, but it was shorter and steeper than the way they had come up.

Desmond tore down it in a slipping, sliding run, once tumbling head over heels and rolling several feet before he was able to scramble up and run again. He took the last few feet to the tarn’s edge in a single leap.

She wasn’t there. Oh, God, she wasn’t there. He searched the water for any sign of Thisbe, jerking off his shoes as he did so. There it was—the spread of dark hair on the surface. He dove into the water. The icy cold was a slam to his heart, but he didn’t pause as he sliced through the water. He had learned to swim in a river, battling currents, and he was a strong swimmer, but the cold of the water sapped his strength.

He couldn’t find her. Could no longer see her hair floating on the surface. He stopped and frantically looked all around. Something grazed his foot. He plunged downward into the dark water, his hands groping around him. His fingers touched fabric, and he grabbed it. Pulling with all his strength, he kicked to the surface. He breached the water, carrying Thisbe’s body with him, and sucked in a lungful of air. Treading water, he managed to get Thisbe’s face above the surface and his arm around her.

She was limp against him, offering no assistance as he struck out for the shore. Desmond prayed he was swimming in the right direction. The setting sun was gone now, the world darkening around them. It would be disastrous if he’d turned in the wrong direction and was swimming toward the center of the lake. He kicked, using one arm to stroke backward, his other holding Thisbe up out of the water. The cold was enervating, dragging at his muscles, and Thisbe’s sodden skirts and petticoats weighed them down. Numbly, he continued.

Suddenly, as he reached forward in his stroke, his fingers hit dirt. He’d reached the shore. Desmond crawled from the water, pulling Thisbe up onto the shore beside him. He hadn’t even the breath to say her name as he bent over her. Her face was pale, her lips almost blue. It was the vision he’d seen in the Eye: Thisbe pale and dead on the ground.

“No!” He pressed his fingers against her neck. There was no pulse. “No! Damn it, Thisbe, no.”

He refused to let her die. Bending Thisbe over his arm, he slapped her back. Water drained from her mouth, but her chest didn’t move. He hit her harder. Nothing. He’d read... His frozen brain struggled to remember.

After laying her on her back, he pushed on her chest, pushed again and again. Bending, he placed his lips against hers and breathed into her mouth. He pushed on her chest. He breathed; he pushed. Forcing his air into her. Demanding that she live.

Thisbe jerked. She began to cough violently, rolling onto her side. Desmond sat back on his heels, shaking with relief. If he’d had the energy, he would have laughed. He would have cried. But all he could do was sit there, gulping in air and soaking in the knowledge that Thisbe was alive.

The rattle of rocks drew Desmond’s attention to the scree he’d just descended. Carson was stumbling down it. The dirt that coated his body, mixing with the blood on his chest, was mute testimony that Carson had taken a tumble or two on his way down. Wearily, Desmond watched Carson reach flat ground and start toward him.