Eliza slowed to a stop, which made him stop too or run over her entirely. Inches separated them. Her scent flooded his senses, and he struggled not to close the gap, to fit his mouth to hers once more, and take this time. The warm light of the inn’s window shone down upon her, picking up the copper filaments in her bright hair and highlighting the sweet curve of her mouth. That mouth. He repressed a sigh of longing and focused on his irritation. “Well?” he asked, his tone short.
The little furrow worked deeper between her brows. “It lies between us, our bad beginning.”
“What does that have to do with your flinching from my touch?”
“It taints every experience we have.” Her lashes lowered a fraction, and her attention drifted to his mouth. Adam’s heart began to pound, but she flicked her gaze upwards once more, and her chin lifted. “Adam, I would not have touched you if I hadn’t wanted to. As you should well know.”
He stepped close to her, his hand wrapping around the base of her throat, because he needed to touch her. The contact settled him, yet his heartbeat kept a hard rhythm. “Then tell me what has upset you.”
Her fingers clutched his biceps, their tips digging in, and a surge of protectiveness swamped him. Adam rested his forehead against hers, the difference in their heights making him duck his head low. “Truth, Eliza. Surely we can have that between us.”
“A fae came into the taproom.”
He lurched, ready to turn and hunt down the fae, but she held him fast. “She is gone, but she had a message for me. She said they would be coming for my head next.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Fear for Eliza held Adam by the cods, hard enough to kill his ardor, or at very least, take the edge off of it. When they returned to the innkeeper’s cottage, Adam locked them in tight and then went about securing all the windows. He could only be thankful that the old cottage shutters were decorated with iron laths. Not much iron, but enough to deter most fae.
Task done, he walked Eliza to the tiny bedroom.
“I’ll take the couch and keep guard out here,” he said somewhat grimly, for the baser part of him still wanted to sink into her warmth and stay there. An eternity just might relieve his need.
Eliza gave him a long look but then sighed. “Very well.” She glanced at the door. “Will you be all right?”
“I’ve my sword and my strength back.” Adam ran a knuckle over her silken cheek. “All will be well, dove.” He’d keep her safe or die trying.
She left him then, and he stood for a long time in the middle of the cold cottage, listening to the sounds of the night and cursing Mellan to hell and back. To deny sleep was foolish; a tired warrior made for a sloppy fighter. So Adam lay upon the couch, sword by his side, just as he’d done centuries ago. Sleep was a long time coming, but eventually it took him.
He became aware of himself the very moment Eliza slipped into the room. His eyes snapped open in time to see her walk past, her white nightgown billowing behind her like a ghostly sail, her steps steady and sure. She never looked his way.
Huddled into the too-small couch, his body creaked with protest as he slowly rose to follow. He barely paused as he grabbed hold of his sword and back scabbard, strapping them on as he went. Cold floorboards chilled his feet as he moved across the cottage. She was far enough ahead not to notice him creeping up behind her. Out the door she went, never hesitating, looking neither left or right, and into the crisp night air.
Fog rose up from the ground, a soupy swirl, thick and pale green. Fae’s fog. The herald of evil. The hairs at the back of Adam’s neck lifted, his muscles tensing for battle. Eliza’s golden curls bounced, her gown swaying as she walked, keeping that eerie, unwavering pace.
Sleepwalking. She had to be, for she barely blinked, not noticing him in the least. Not that he wanted her to see him. Instinct told him not yet. The fog parted for her as she moved toward the pasture just beyond the barn. It was then he saw them: spirits. His heart began to pound. He’d not seen spirits since Mab had taken him. So many now, hovering and weaving in and out of shape. Shining, translucent shells of those they’d once been in life. And they waited for Eliza.
Fear grabbed hold of Adam, and he strode forward, pulling his sword from its scabbard with a decisive ring of steel. It did not matter that steel couldn’t touch them. Adam simply needed to feel his weapon in his hand. He’d figure the rest out as he went along. But one thing was certain. They would not take her. Even if he had to become a spirit to fight them.
“Eliza.” His deep call rang out through the night. She did not falter but moved ever closer to the waiting ring of ghosts. Desperation gave his voice a sharp bite, turned his stride into a jog. “Eliza, stop!”
She paid him no head. Moonlight shone down, illuminating her in brilliant silver-white, and her slim arms rose as if to beckon the waiting dead. They surged forward, swarming her, even as Adam shouted his outrage. Unaffected, she raised her head to the night, tears leaving shining trails down her cheeks, and a laugh bubbling up from her throat. A mad, disjointed cackle.
Adam skidded to a halt, gooseflesh pricking his skin. Eliza laughed with glee, the sound drawing in more spirits. More and more, writhing bodies of the dead, touching her hair, her arms, their diaphanous faces holding looks of rapture.
“Iosa Criosd.” Though he had not done since he’d been fully human, he crossed himself. And she did not push the spirits away, but opened her arms to embrace them all. A terrible fear that they would claim her as one of their own swamped him. One that increased when her eyes turned mirrorlike. Possessed.
“Eliza,” Adam shouted, lunging forward, though he knew he was too far away. “No!”
Adam’s palms grew damp, his grip on his sword’s hilt slipping, his heart pounding against his ribs. Transfixed as he was, he didn’t see the movement to his right until the fae was almost on top of him, scythe already swinging to slice off Adam’s head.
Adam blocked with the flat of his sword, the impact vibrating through his bones. The fae was enormous, stronger than hell. And fast. The fae’s strikes were a blur of movement. Sweat bled into Adam’s eyes as he parried and riposted.
This was no ordinary fae but a trained assassin. And his weapon no ordinary scythe, or Adam’s sword would have sliced through it like parchment. Trepidation took hold of Adam’s gut. He was no match against such things, and so he put all his strength into his next swipe, angling the sword for the killing blow.
Wrong angle and too hard a strike. For when their weapons clashed again, they both snapped in half, sending sparks shooting into the sky. The fae’s scythe fell from its handle just as the long blade of Adam’s sword clattered to the ground.
Adam felt the loss like a stab to the heart. But he wasted no time and, flipping the weapon in his hand, he smashed the blunt end of the hilt into the fae’s nose.
Cartilage crunched, blood poured. The fae bared his back fangs and pulled another sword from behind his back. Another fae weapon, and one headed for Adam’s gut.
In the near-distance, Eliza’s horrible laugh turned into a scream, straight from hell.
The fae glanced back, his face leaching of color. The ungodly sound coming from Eliza had frozen them both in shock.
Adam recovered first and, putting all his strength behind the action, thrust the broken end of his sword into the fae’s chest.
At the same moment, Eliza turned, her arms outstretched, her mouth agape – that never-ending scream ringing out in the night. Spirits swarmed around her in a maelstrom. Eliza’s odd, reflective gaze landed on the fae, and as if commanded, the spirits moved as one, flying over the field, coming straight at Adam and the fae warrior.
Terror punched into Adam’s heart, even as a blast of breathtaking power knocked him back on his arse. He landed with teeth-rattling force.
As for the fae, he burst into a cloud of grey ash, the remnants of Adam’s sword clattering to the ground. As if waiting until the fae was truly destroyed, Eliza gave one last, rasping cry and then
dropped in a heap of white gown and tangled limbs.
Strong arms held her tight, warding off the chill in the air. Eliza’s cheek was pressed against the fragrant heat of male skin. Adam’s neck. She knew his scent, the exotic spice of it, tinged with something like crisp apples and smoky autumn leaves. She burrowed closer, inhaling and feeling safe.
“Eliza?” His whisper held a hint of worry, and fear.
Only then did she open her eyes. She lay cradled in his lap, as wisps of fog dissipated around them. “Why,” she rasped, “are we sitting in a field?”
Deep grooves bracketed Adam’s mouth. But he answered lightly enough. “Oh, I thought we might take in the night air.”
With a huff, she sat up, but quickly grabbed hold of the front of his shirt when her head swam with dizziness. Instantly, he pulled her back down into the crook of his arm where she could hear his heart beating steady and strong. “Easy, lass.”
His big hand covered the back of her head. Gently, he ran his fingers through her hair. “You were walking in your sleep,” he murmured.
Eliza tensed. And his touched grew firmer, reassuring.
“What did I do?” she forced herself to ask. And hated the way he stiffened, his breath drawing in as if he were struggling to find an easy answer. Eliza closed her eyes, her fingers curling into his linen shirt. “Did someone die?”
Against her ear, she could hear his heartbeat quicken and his breath stutter. “Why is it that your first assumption was a death?”
Because he looked at her as though he held a monster in his arms. A dull yet pervasive hurt spread through her chest.
“I…” She could tell him. He’d understand. He’d been the keeper of souls for centuries. Eliza found herself sinking further into Adam’s warmth. Shockingly, he let her do it, his body curling around hers as though he would block all hurts if he could.
“Tell me, mo gradh,” he said. “Tell me what has happened to you.”
Eliza’s breath seized, her heart clenching beneath her ribs. Adam’s proper English slipped now and then, and it was clear he thought she was ignorant of Gaelic. But her grandfather, Aiden Evernight, had taught her the language. And all that she could think on now was that Adam had called her my love. Not the light and teasing “love” the English liked to toss around. But in a reverential tone.
“Eliza?” He touched her cheek with the callused tips of his fingers.
“I kill.”
Adam’s brows drew together as he looked off, and she had the mad urge to trace the sharp line of his jaw, to trail her fingers along the growth of stubble there that heightened the softness of his mouth.
“You do not appear surprised. I killed again, didn’t I?”
“Aye.” He said it slowly, a drawn-out breath as though he were tired. And Eliza’s insides went ice cold. Who had she killed?
She’d always been in control when it happened. She had never killed and not remembered. Curling up closer to Adam, she clung to his shirt. “That is what Mellan used me for. To kill, to instill fear in the hearts of men.”
Against her, Adam went stiff and uttered a foul curse. Oddly, Eliza found herself stroking the hard swell of his chest. “I’ve always been able to… I don’t even know what it is that I do… Only that this black, foul anger comes over me, and I can pull the life out of a man.”
“Pull out his soul,” Adam murmured. “You’re pulling his soul.”
“Yes.” Eliza ran a finger along the seam of his collar, the action soothing her. “I suppose that’s it.”
“And you did this for Mellan?”
A sigh left her, and her throat burned. “I was so foolish, Adam. So full of fear and hate. I was alone in the world, and he took me in, made me feel safe and comfortable. He told me that I’d only be killing evil men, those who harmed women and children.” She laughed. “Such a horrible cliché. And I believed him, lived to do whatever it was he wanted, until I finally realized that it did not matter who I killed. I was wrong for doing it.”
Adam’s long fingers sifted through her hair, his touch so gentle that she barely felt it. “In all my years of life,” he said, “I have come to discover that, more often than not, we believe what we want to believe. The convenient lie, an easy truth, whatever we must to survive.” His hand stilled, cupping the back of her head, and easing her against his shoulder. “Is it wrong? Perhaps. But you broke from those bonds of fear, did you not? You left Mellan.”
“And yet,” she rasped, “I did it again. At the Rag Fair. A man cornered me, and instead of trying to get away, I killed him.”
He let out a breath. “I knew something had happened.”
Eliza shuddered. “I reveled in it. And at the same time, I felt soul sick.”
He did not say anything to that, but merely brushed a kiss against the crown of her head. And, shockingly, it made her feel, not better, but it opened a small warm corner of her heart.
Adam sat back a little so that his gaze met hers. There was no judgment in his golden eyes, only puzzlement, and a bit of caution. “How is it that you did not kill those men who…” He swallowed hard and a dark rage filled his expression before he spoke again. “The men who violated you that night? The men who killed you.”
Eliza’s heart gave a small start. “They did not violate me, Adam.”
His scowl said he believed otherwise. “Your skirts were up and —” His jaw bunched.
“They tried,” Eliza clarified, pressing her palm to his chest where his heart pounded hard. “I had my hand around one of their necks, he was dying, and the others gutted me to save him.” She let her hand slid down to rest in her lap. She could not touch him then. “This power I have only works when I touch another. And only on humans.”
She grimaced, even as he tensed. “I tried to kill Mellan, you see. And it never worked.”
“Hmm…” Adam’s breath was warm against her hair. “I think you’re changing, Eliza. Your powers. Perhaps this is why he is desperate to control you.”
“There is more.” Her voice was a ghost in the night.
He made a sound of amusement. “There always is, love.”
Eliza cleared her throat. “Death calls to me.”
He stilled, his grip tightening in her hair. “As though the dead need you.”
“Yes. Exactly.” Eliza tipped her head back and met his dark gaze. “Only I cannot hear what they say. And I see the light of souls within a person’s body.”
At that, he twitched.
“Mab says it is because you made me like you,” she said.
He visibly flinched but did not answer.
“Did you?” she pressed. “Am I a GIM without a clockwork heart?”
A lock of his inky hair fell over his brow as he woodenly shook his head. “No. I made you…” A grimace twisted his mouth. “Less than.”
Eliza sat up, her mouth agape. Still he would not face her. With a cold hand, she turned him toward her. Defiance was there in his gaze, and regret.
“Less than,” she repeated, shaking. She ought not to care. Why, then did she feel let down?
“Aye,” he said with clear reluctance. “I gave your body life anew, but you cannot roam in spirit. Nor are you immortal.” He winced once again. “You can die, Eliza.”
Eliza rose from his lap, her legs stiff, her chest aching. He let her go, tracking her movements but not standing. He simply sat upon the dirt, regal as a king, and waited for her ire. Well, he would have it.
“You made me vulnerable to death so you could hold the promise of life over me, didn’t you?”
A bare nod. “That I did.”
The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth before she realized she’d bitten her lip. A rough laugh tore from her. “Oh, well played, sir. And you accuse the fae of being manipulative. Forgive me if I choke on the hypocrisy.”
Adam sighed, but he did not try to defend himself. Which made it worse. She wanted his fight. Wanted to hate him. Because she felt too much for him now. The thought of needing him terrif
ied her.
Her feet slapped over the cold, hard earth as she paced away from him before whirling back. “I’d call you a rotten bastard, but what difference would it make?”
“Would you rather I had made you GIM?” he asked with quiet earnestness.
“I’d rather you had not used me as a pawn. I’ve had enough of that in my life.”
Still as a lion, he blinked at her. “I told you, Eliza, you were the answer to all my hopes and dreams, to my freedom. I would have done anything to safeguard it. That I went about it the wrong way cannot change the past.”
“And now?” she snapped. “Is all this” – she waved a hand between them – “kindness and care merely another bid to secure my affection?” God, he’d been succeeding. Far too well.
His body was moving grace as his long limbs unfolded and he stood tall before her. The breadth of his shoulders blotted out the moon, leaving him limned in silvery light. “Truth, Eliza?”
She nodded, and he took a step closer. Beneath thick, straight brows his gaze burned. “In truth, I want you so badly, the mere thought of you is a hand around my cock.”
A strangled sound left her, but he wasn’t finished. “I want to sink into your quim and call it home. To learn the taste and texture of your skin, and then do it all over again. Is it because you are my soul mate? I do not know. I bloody well don’t care. All I know is that I want this ache” – his fist hit the wall of his chest with a thud – “this need to abate. Will bedding you quench my thirst? I cannot tell you, but I’ll gladly put that question to the test.”
The way he looked at her, so fierce and angry yet pleading, it licked over her skin like fire. He was too far away. And too close. She wanted to ease his tension, to rub her hands over those broad shoulders and down his bunched biceps. And she wanted to escape. He’d manipulated her, left her vulnerable to his will, all for his own selfish gain.
She took one step, and her foot sank into a pile of something soft and loamy. Eliza gave a start and glanced down. The substance was dark grey and scattered as her foot disrupted it.
Soulbound Page 24
