Hollow: Isa Fae paranormal romance (Fallen Sorcery Book 2)

by Steffanie Holmes

  Aisling’s face turned angry. “Why don’t you want me to learn this?” she asked, tossing her sword to the ground. It clattered against the marble. “If the fae come with their weapons, like you said they will, I need to be able to defend myself. So why don’t you want me to do that? I want an honest answer.”

  “I …” He wrung his hands. “I don’t really know.”

  One day when you find out the truth about what I did, you’ll want to fight me. And I don’t want you to win.

  “Yes, you do. Come on, Niall.”

  He sighed. “I’m the warrior. I’m the one who’s supposed to protect you. In my dreams, I can never protect you. The figure in the shadows always gets you in the end. That’s my worst nightmare – standing aside and watching someone I care about die, and not being able to do anything to stop it. I already had to watch my father die like that, and my brother isn’t far away, either.”

  “Your brother?”

  “Yeah.” Niall thought fast, annoyed he’d accidentally let that detail slip. “He’s a Quaesitor, and he was feeding me information. They discovered he was stealing secrets, and they locked him up. There’s a trial to decide his fate, but he’ll probably be tortured for information, then drained of atern until he’s dead.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “Yes, it is. But I won’t let that be your fate, Aisling. I’m never going to let you be in a situation where you’re alone and defenseless, where you may have to live with the knowledge of the lives you take. I’m fae – guilt is foreign to me. But you have no such protection.”

  “You care about me?”

  Damn her. It figures she’d focus on that particular bit. “That’s what I said.”

  Aisling shook her head. “This isn’t how it works, Niall. You don’t come in my house and make that decision for me. Don’t you see? By teaching me how to defend myself, you are protecting me. You’re giving me the tools I need to keep myself alive, as I’ve done all these years. I won’t be bound to you in the same way I’m bound to this house. And if you insist on it being so, then I’m not sure we can continue to live together.”

  Niall blinked. She was right. He hated that she was right, it was so obvious. Since he was the one who was currently the biggest danger to her, since he was the enemy inside the walls, the one who might well bring destruction down upon her in the end, it seemed fitting that he should be the one to prepare her to fight.

  What are you even talking about? Your head's all messed up. You can’t show her how messed up you are, or she’s going to realize there’s more to your story than just a little guilt over your father.

  “Very well.” Niall gestured to her weapon. “Pick up your sword. I’ll show you how to stab a man through the throat.”

  Aisling grinned as her hands closed over the hilt. “That’s more like it.”

  Letter shoved through mail slot of the Hollow

  Dear Odiana,

  I’m still here, and still safe. The house is more stable then we could ever have guessed. It hums with energy, but I can’t collect it. The ray still won’t work.

  The other day, I saw the witch, Aisling, draw down atern from the walls to help her perform a spell. She didn’t even realize she was doing it. There’s something in that, but I’ll report back once I know more.

  I hope Eamon is okay. Kick Laneth in the teeth for me, if you get the chance.

  Niall

  11

  Aisling

  “I have a problem,” Niall said.

  They were eating breakfast together in the window of the drawing room, in the new “breakfast nook” Niall had made for them. He had pulled a small table and two chairs from one of the opulent guest suites upstairs, and set it up where the writing desk had been. The desk had been banished to the dark corner of the room, boxes of her grandmother’s magical tools stacked on top of it – a fact that made Aisling instantly love the drawing room. On the wall behind the table was the mural they’d painted of Widdershins wandering down a sandy beach – Aisling had tried to make it look like the beach in her dreams, but she wasn’t that great at art. Niall made the table look festive with a lace tablecloth and the finest silver. Instead of a vase of flowers at the center, he’d placed one of the decapitated dog statues. Aisling couldn’t see it without smiling.

  Having Niall here makes this so much more bearable. The last few months had been some of the best she’d ever had in the house.

  She set down her spoon, and met Niall’s ice eyes. “What’s your problem?”

  “You see, when I came here, I didn’t exactly plan to stay that long. And so, I hadn’t packed any spare clothes.” Niall held out the front of his shirt and wrinkled his face in disgust. “I’ve been airing these out overnight, but they’re starting to reek.”

  “What about that suitcase you brought with you?” Aisling said. “I thought that had clothes in it.”

  Niall looked uncomfortable. “That’s right. It did. But … I lost it, to the void at the rear of the master bedroom upstairs.”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I didn’t want to bother you. Besides,” he said, winking, “I have a feeling you’d prefer me naked, anyway.”

  Aisling snorted into her porridge, even as her body flared with heat at the idea of Niall wandering around the house without any clothes.

  Niall lifted one arm above his head, sniffed his armpit, and wrinkled his nose. “Seriously. Smell me. I’m like some kind of stink monster.”

  “Get away from me.” Aisling shoved him away, her body shivering with delight as their skin connected again. Over the last few weeks, she’d gotten more used to the sensation when they touched, but that didn’t mean it had stopped. If anything, it was growing stronger, more urgent. Like an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

  After they’d cleared up the breakfast dishes, Aisling showed Niall the small doorway at the back of the kitchen. “Here’s the laundry,” she said, gesturing to the large enamel tubs and old-fashioned wringer.

  “What is this sorcery?” Niall touched the handle of the wringer, wrinkling his nose. “It looks like some kind of torture device.”

  “That wringer has been here for over 200 years,” Aisling said. “My grandmother liked to do things the old-fashioned way. A good thing, too. Because if there’d been an electrical washing machine, I’d be screwed.”

  “Can’t you just enchant some little birds to do your chores for you?” Niall asked. “I saw that in an old human storybook once.”

  “There aren’t any little birds around here,” Aisling said. “And Widdershins is afraid of water. You’re going to have to use good old-fashioned elbow grease.”

  “Help me. Show me what to do. I usually had a—” he stopped talking abruptly. A good thing, as Aisling had a feeling the words “slave do it for me” were about to come out of his mouth.

  “Crank handle. Push clothes through. It’s pretty easy.” She grinned. “Besides, you’re so strong, and you’ve only got one outfit. You’ll be done in a flash.”

  “You’re cruel, witch.”

  “Get used to it, fae.” They started calling each other witch and fae, in that teasing, cruel way that had, over time, become not so teasing and cruel, but instead more affectionate and sweet. Aisling worried that by doing it, they were removing the power from the words, bringing themselves closer than they should be. But she couldn’t help it. She was close to Niall, whether she wanted to be or not. And she couldn’t deny that even as she tried to resist the pull of their bodies, she longed for them to be closer still.

  “Don’t watch.” Niall turned away from her, and tore off his shirt. His back muscles rippled as he bent down to unbutton his pants. Aisling stood in the doorway, transfixed by the way he moved and the complex tattoos winding their way down his spine and across his shoulders. They depicted battles against fierce monsters, souls burning in bright orange fires, their tortured faces contorting as they were consigned to ash. Why would someone immortalize such a sight in their flesh?
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br />   “I know you’re watching.” Niall didn’t turn around as he turned the tap to fill the tub with hot water. The muscles of his ass pulled taut as he stepped out of his pants. Beneath, he wore a pair of cotton boxer shorts, tied with a drawstring around his waist. The muscles of his thighs pulled at the shorts, which did little to disguise the curve of his tight ass. Aisling gulped, her face stinging with embarrassment. She didn’t turn away.

  “How do you know?”

  “I can feel your eyes on me.” He glanced over his shoulder as he opened the tap, and flashed her a wicked grin.

  Those icy eyes saw straight through her. Aisling’s cheeks burned with heat. The room suddenly seemed very small, the walls bending inwards. “I don’t exactly have a television in here.” She tried to keep her voice light. “This is the best show I’ve seen in years.”

  “I’ve read about televisions, but I’ve never seen one. The fae have no use for such things.” Niall tossed his pants into the steaming water, and stepped out of his boxers. Oh god. Aisling’s stomach churned with nerves. The air around her sizzled with energy. She tried to tear her eyes away, but they remained transfixed on Niall’s strong thighs. Several long scars crossed them at the back.

  “What are those marks?” Aisling asked.

  “Lashes.” Niall started scrubbing the armpits of his shirt. “The fae are harsh on those they feel are less than perfect.”

  “How were you less than perfect?” Aisling asked, unsure how someone with a body like that could be anything but worshipped.

  Niall continued scrubbing, still not turning around. “I disobeyed my colonel. He wanted me to drain a witch we found hiding in the forest. She had only a few units of atern left, barely enough to summon the flame for a campfire. I said the exercise was pointless. She had several items on her that were humming with atern, so she had likely pushed her power into them. She would be more valuable alive, where she could be questioned. He had me thrashed for disobeying orders.”

  “What happened to the witch?”

  “He drained her himself, then tossed her body to the wolves.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “That you were thrashed. That you couldn’t save her.”

  “Save your apologies. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I was trying to save her, Aisling. If she’d been kept for questioning, she would have been tortured. He might even have done her a favor.”

  The brutality in his words stung her, pushing her out of her daydreams. She forgot, often, that Niall was a warrior, trained in killing. And that as nicely as he treated her, he fundamentally believed her to be of an inferior race, not worthy of respect or freedom. He’s fae. Her mother’s voice echoed in her ears. Don’t make the mistake of thinking he’s different.

  Niall lowered his shorts, and Aisling’s mother’s voice died. His smooth skin, the taut muscles of this thighs, his warrior’s body …

  Turn around … turn around …

  Niall rinsed off the shorts in the warm, soapy water, then emptied the tub to rinse them. She watched him in silence, in awe of his graceful, light movements, the way his muscles shifted.

  He’s fae he’s fae he’s fae he’s fae …

  He came here to save me. He is different. I know he is.

  “Niall?” she asked, taking a step toward him. “How many … how many have you killed?”

  “Don’t ask that question,” he said, still not looking up as he placed his shirt between the rollers and started to crank the handle. The machine was many centuries old, and difficult to operate, yet he made it look so effortless. “You won’t like the answer.”

  Aisling turned on her heel and ran from the room, slamming the kitchen door shut behind her. She didn’t stop running until she reached the ballroom, where she threw open the door and ducked inside, sliding the gilded bolt into the lock to seal herself in. She slumped against the heavy door, and burst into tears.

  12

  Niall

  Aisling.

  Niall flung the blanket off. His body was drenched. At first he thought the rain had moved across the room and was now soaking his new bed, but as he wiped a hand across his forehead, he realized he was, in fact, bathed in sweat.

  He’d been dreaming, but he couldn’t remember what about. That disturbed him. Fae always remembered their dreams. Always. That was why there was a whole sect dedicated to deciphering them. That’s why whole wars had been waged over the memories of dreams.

  The dream had been unsettling, he remembered that much. He’d woken up in a terrible fear that Aisling was somehow in danger, not in the dream, but right here, in her room.

  In her room.

  He hadn’t seen her all day, not since she’d run out of the laundry. At first he’d been angry, and disappointed. He felt sure that stripping down would have sent her over the edge, made her forget that they were sworn enemies just long enough so he could enact his wildest fantasies, so he could get her out from under his skin. But as quick as the anger came, it was replaced by another sensation – worry.

  He was worried about her. The fact that she was somewhere in the house, feeling sad, because of what he’d said made him feel all … odd, like he’d misplaced something important. He’d paced around the house all afternoon, moving listlessly between the rooms, unable to sit still or focus on a task. Aisling didn’t show herself all day, but when he finally went to bed, he’d heard her moving around in her room.

  And now his body crawled with the sensation that something was wrong, that somehow, Aisling was in danger. All his attempts to remind himself that it was only a dream didn’t fill him with any more confidence, especially not in this house, especially not with the rasping voices whispering his name from the other side of the crack.

  Niall threw himself out of bed, grabbed his bow and tossed his quiver over his shoulder. He yanked out an arrow and loaded the bow, then darted into the hallway, his fae senses on high alert. He scanned the corridor, searching for something that shouldn’t be there.

  Something brushed against his ankle. Niall leapt back, swinging his bow around to meet his foe. A pair of yellow eyes glared at him from the darkness.

  “Meeerrrrwww.”

  “Oh, crap.” Niall slackened his grip, relief flooding him. “I nearly killed you, you daft cat.”

  Widdershins fixed Niall with a withering stare, then trotted past him into his bedroom. Niall didn’t have to glance over his shoulder to know there was now a black lump sleeping in the middle of the dent left by his warm body.

  Niall focused his attention on the corridor again. He stepped out of his doorway, nudging the door to the bathroom open with his toe. He swept inside. Nothing. Next was Aisling’s room.

  Niall pressed his back against the wall, and pushed the door open a crack with his foot. He swung himself around, so his back was against the door. He lifted his bow, nocked an arrow, and pulled the string back against his shoulder.

  Aisling lay in her bed, the sheets twisted around her body like the ornate drapery of a Renaissance painting. Her head rested on her hands, her bow-shaped lips parted slightly, and her long lashes tangled together like the limbs of lovers.

  Niall nudged the door open further, and stepped into the room, swinging the bow around as he searched every corner.

  Finally, the panic in his chest subsided. There was nothing wrong here. It really was just a dream.

  Niall lowered his bow, and backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him. He moved back into his own room and set down the bow and quiver. Widdershins opened one sleepy eye, and yawned at him.

  Niall’s foot brushed the suitcase. The ray.

  While I’m awake …

  He grabbed the ray and headed back into the corridor.

  As he turned toward the staircase, he noticed he’d left Aisling’s door open a crack.

  He stepped toward it, thinking to close it in case Aisling noticed in the morning that it was open. She’d lived in this house too long to not notice a little
difference like that. As he grabbed the handle and pulled the door closed, he thought he saw a glint of light – a fork of lightning from the window behind him lit up the hall and a flicker on the surface of an eye, staring at him through the crack.

  Niall blinked, and the image was gone. Is it Aisling? Has she woken up?

  “Hello?” he whispered into the night. He received no reply.

  No, I just imagined it. The door clicked shut, and he continued on down the hall, tracking the same path he’d followed many nights before this.

  No matter how many times he visited the library, it never failed to fill him with wonder. All the books in Scitis were monitored by the Quaesitors, who kept a large library at the university – not a comfortable library like this one, but a sterile, minimalist lab where books were held in strong boxes. The only book he’d been allowed to read was that one on weaponry.

  Niall set the ray on the desk and collapsed into the chair beside it. First, he tore a page from Aisling’s ledger book, and scribbled another note to Odiana, outlining his lack of progress. Next, he went to the shelf, searching for another title that might give him some clue about how to get the magic out of the house.

  He hated himself for being here, in Aisling’s favorite place, without her. Keeping the secret didn’t bother him – lies rolled off his back like raindrops in a storm – but being in the library alone felt somehow sacrilegious, as though he were trespassing in some sacred temple.

  Niall started scanning the titles. The books on the shelves were a hodgepodge of topics – archaeology, herbology, astronomy, chemistry, fairy tales, British mystery novels, paperback romance books with women in sweeping ball gowns running through fields on the covers, old ledgers and diaries of the previous owners of the manor. A card catalogue on the desk showed the library had once been organized, but now the books were all out of order.