“Lannes,” Will said, frowning.
“Something’s happened,” Lannes whispered, staring at Simon. “He’s hurting her.”
He did not think. He grabbed a pillow and ripped off the old man’s oxygen mask. Will grabbed his arm, his gaze burning with a power that reached even through Lannes’ desperation and rage.
“I’ll handle this,” said Will. “Go to her.”
Lannes froze a moment, then dropped the pillow and staggered backward. Inside his heart he reached for Lethe but could only find a glimmer, the echo of a flame.
She was dying.
Chapter Twenty-one
The trees were full of crows. Lethe noticed that almost an hour after Lannes and the others had driven away. She felt uncomfortable in the house and had started wandering. Just to the garden, the edge of the meadow where the horses grazed.
The crows were silent and watchful. It made her uneasy. She saw Rictor over by the cemetery and went to join him.
He stood by the wrought-iron fence surrounding what must have been several acres’ worth of gravestones, arms folded over his chest, green eyes thoughtful. He did not look at her.
“You’ve adjusted well to all this,” he said.
She studied his profile, then turned away to stare at the sea of buried dead. Monuments to mystery, lives long gone. “My memories might be lost, but not my instincts. And given what little Lannes has told me about my family, I would guess I’ve had some experience with strange things. The initial shock was the hardest part. Now it’s just beginning to feel…natural.”
And then she asked something that had been bugging her for some time: “What did the Sidhe queen mean about my eyes?”
Rictor walked through the gate into the cemetery. Lethe followed. “Your eyes are green,” he said.
“Lots of people have green eyes,” she replied. “Like you.”
“Like her.”
“I’m talking about normal people.”
“And there are many. But not you.” He finally looked at her, and being the focus of his gaze felt like standing naked on a freeway, playing chicken with a semi. “Something in your blood isn’t entirely human. Just like the rest of your family.”
The hairs rose on the back of her neck. “What do you know about my family?”
Rictor turned away from her and began staring at the graves again. “Some of them were dangerous. The older women especially, though they’re all dead now. You’re not as powerful as they were, but you have the potential. If you ever set your mind to it. Then again,” he added slowly, “maybe you decided not to.”
Lethe’s pulse quickened. “I tore out my own memories. I believe that now. You’re saying that’s why?”
“I’m not saying anything,” Rictor replied. “I don’t know anything, anymore.”
And he walked away, following a path amongst the graves. Lethe did not follow. Talking to Rictor was almost as bad as being stared at by a tree full of crows. She ambled back to the house. This time she was going to stay there. Maybe she’d read a book. Or, at least, maybe she’d discover the kinds of books she liked. Which made her wonder about Lannes. She knew almost as little about his life as she did about her own.
Her life. Her family. Which was searching for her.
They’ll continue to search for you. Unless you go to them first.
A terrifying idea. Especially knowing what had happened to Lannes. Continuing to be with her could not possibly be safe for him. But letting go…letting go of him was not an option, either. Lethe had no concept of her life before, no memories to hang on to, but she knew what love was. She knew she loved him.
Lethe could not explain it, of course. She could not rationalize it. What she felt was as inexplicable as an enchanted wood, or surly immortals, or men who changed their shape with a thought. This was the modern world. Twenty-first century. People flew in planes and drove cars, surfed the Internet, watched movies with loud explosions. There was no room in the world for gargoyles, or psychics, or forests inhabited by women of temperamental powers, where the soul could reside after death. There was no room in the world for magic, in hearts or otherwise.
And yet, here she was, proposing magic. Proposing love. And she would rather be in danger with Lannes than live in safety with any other.
Near the house, an odd chill stole over her. Lethe slowed, listening, but the crows were silent. Still, a tingle hit her mind. She did not know what it meant or what to do with it, but she considered it a warning.
She stared at the house, searching the windows, then turned and very quickly began walking back to the cemetery and Rictor. Better to be safe than sorry. She did not care if the man laughed at her.
She never made it. Halfway there, something hit her in the back. She went down hard on her knees. An arm reached around her throat.
“Told you I was gonna kill you,” whispered a man. Ed. Simon.
And before she could summon her strength, something long and sharp plunged into her eye.
The pain was terrible, but it was over quickly. Everything, gone.
She passed through darkness. It was an empty place, as cold and lonely as the hole inside her memories. She searched for anything to anchor her and found two faint stars, flickering so far away that all she could do was stare and wish and desire. Two stars, one brighter than the other. Her only light.
And then, in the darkness, she sensed a presence. Not alone. She was not alone.
Little pet, whispered a smooth feminine voice. How sweet to have you here.
The speed limit on I-64 was seventy miles per hour. Lannes pushed the Humvee to one hundred twenty, with Koni at his side, buckled in, feet braced on the dashboard. It took him less than forty minutes to return to the farm in Cuzco, but that was forty minutes too long.
There was a body sprawled in the driveway when they reached the farm. A man. Lannes almost did not brake in time. He and Koni scrambled out of the car, but only the shape-shifter ran to the man.
“It’s Ed!” he shouted, but Lannes had already glimpsed another distant figure, and he took off running, crossing the meadow in tremendous strides that took him into the air in leaps and gliding bounds.
Rictor knelt on the edge of the forest. He was covered in blood. Lannes slammed into the earth beside him, grabbed his armpit and shoulder, and hauled his entire body into the air.
“Where?” he snarled.
“There was still a chance,” Rictor said hoarsely. Lannes dropped him, and spun around to face the forest. He did not stop to think. All that was left of Lethe was a spark in his heart, their bond shriveled to a thread. Around that small light his soul felt like the yawning abyss: gone, dead, never born.
He plunged into the forest. It was like diving through a curtain of green shimmering light. Nothing touched him, not leaf or thorn. He fell through the forest border and found himself on a path made of roots and stone.
The Sidhe queen was there with him, seated atop the white stag on a saddle in the shape of a frog. Silver bells hung from her wrists, and diamonds were braided into her long pale hair. She was naked, and her eyes glinted green.
“My lord,” she said with a smile. “Come for a visit to my realm?”
Lannes strode to her in two steps, feeling his illusion strip away into his real skin. The blood burned in his veins, and he could hardly breathe past his rage and grief. “Where is she?”
The queen’s smile grew colder. “You are a curious beast, to be so fascinated with a mortal lover. They are so easily broken.”
Lanne grabbed her fine white ankle. “Take me to her.”
“A kiss first.”
He snarled, and she slipped out of his grip, the stag leaping backward. The queen sat upon its back light as air, but her smile was gone, her gaze sharp as knives, and she looked sideways, in the direction Lannes had come.
“The half-breed knocks,” she whispered. “He wants in.”
“The woman!” Lannes screamed at her.
The queen went still, settling
her gaze on him, bleeding disdain. “You mortals and your love. It never lasts, in any shape or form. And yet you pretend so dangerously.”
“We do not pretend,” Lannes said, grief breaking his voice. “And if you will not give her to me now, then kill me. Or take me instead of her. I don’t care. But do something. Be something.”
The queen stared at him, her eyes so ageless, so implacable, it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. But her mouth tightened and she looked away. Golden light touched the side of Lannes’ face. He turned and watched as the forest shifted upon itself, trees melting and stone groaning. Until in front of him was the mighty oak. In its roots, Runa slept.
And beside her lay Lethe.
Her face was a ruin of blood. Something had been plunged into her eye, and the wound was another murder, this one in his heart. He scooped her into his arms, hugging her limp body against his chest, and his pain was so terrible, so horrifying, he could not make a sound. He could not see or hear past the roar of his blood and the pounding of his pulse.
“Her soul resides,” said the queen, still seated atop her stag. “She can be saved.”
“Then save her,” Lannes whispered, rocking them both. “I will be yours if you save her.”
“Ah,” sighed the queen. “You, gargoyle—I see stories inside your heart. You, who fought the stone of the witch to save your soul. You would give yourself to me, for her?”
“Yes,” he said, closing his eyes. “For her.”
A great shudder filled the trees, a soft roar that echoed from the leaves. All around him, a sigh arose, and a soft voice said, Please.
Runa. Lannes twisted, but the golden woman’s face was still lost in sleep.
Take me, whispered the trees. For her, take me.
The queen lifted her chin, fierce, though her hands trembled. “Self-sacrifice makes me ill. And why you? We have a bargain.”
Simon is dead, breathed Runa’s soft voice. All of them are dead.
“For summoning an abomination, even as a game,” said the queen, “death was too kind.”
But I am free, continued Runa. And this girl is dead at Simon’s hand because of me. There is blood on her hands that would not have belonged there. Memories, which I compelled her to steal. She was of my blood, my tool, my last chance to kill.
Images flashed through Lannes’ mind, blinding him; the glow of the dome, Lethe standing in light with her hair like golden fire and her eyes old, dead as ash, without the vitality he knew in her. All he saw when he looked at the woman was despair, relentless and overpowering.
Not Lethe. Alice.
Alice, later, moving with purpose. Alice, in a hotel room. Alice, taking a meeting with three men. Men with guns.
Alice, also armed, shooting them.
The images made no sense, not without knowing what was in her heart, but he saw the horror on her face afterwards, and saw her hand scrabble for paper and a pen. Of her own free will or not, he wished he knew. But he saw her write. He saw the word, RUN.
Then, nothing. Darkness swelled in his vision, slowly eaten back by green and gold, and the cold body in his arms.
So take me, Runa was whispering. Take me as I took her. It is only right. I will feed your tree with human dreams. But take me.
“Gah,” said the Sidhe queen, disgust flickering across her face. “Damn you both.”
She began to turn the stag then stopped, staring into the rich shadows of the forest gloom. Her hair shimmered like moonlight caught behind a veil of mist. A shudder tore through her body, though it was as delicate as the tremble of a ripple on water.
“You would do anything for her?” she finally whispered, glancing at Lannes.
He could hardly speak. “Anything.”
“Even return to your cage?”
Terror filled him, but he hugged Lethe’s limp body even closer to his chest. “Yes.”
“Ah,” sighed the queen, and in his arms, Lethe stirred. He gazed down at her, stunned, and found the hole in her eye gone, though her face was still covered in blood. Her presence in his mind and heart, small as a spark, suddenly expanded like a rose in bloom.
And his body turned to stone.
His legs hardened first, and then his torso. He released Lethe before his arms could be stolen, and it was like drowning in slow motion, dying in quicksand. He did not shout, though, and he did not fight. He was terrified, but all he could do was look at Lethe—breathing, eyelids fluttering—and the miracle of that allowed no regret.
She opened her eyes at the last moment. Looked straight at him. Confused at first. He tried to smile for her, but his chest stiffened and he could not breathe. Her gaze dipped, and he watched as dull incomprehension was replaced by horror.
“No,” she rasped, and grabbed his hand. It was already stone, cold and unfeeling. She flung herself up on her knees, reeling, and slid her arms around his neck. He still had skin there, and her touch on the last remains of his body made him shudder with grief and pleasure.
“Come away from there, young mortal,” said the queen, hovering behind Lethe. “He is mine now. Such a gallant creature, giving his life for yours.”
Lethe did not look at her, but pressed close instead, bloody and pale. “Lannes, fight.”
“No,” he whispered, trying to memorize her face. “You run.”
She snarled at him, and tangled her hands in his hair, yanking hard. “Fight.”
“Lethe,” he said, but suddenly she was inside his head, filling him up so full it was as though she was trying to become him, live wholly inside him. Control him.
I won’t leave you, she said inside his mind. I won’t. My body will rot and die, and I’ll just live with you, here. Forever. That’s what’s going to happen if you don’t fight.
I gave my word, he told her, as the stone crept over his jaw. Damn it, Lethe. Go.
Go, and do not tempt me, he wanted to add. Terrified that if he did, the Sidhe queen would kill her. He would rather die himself. He would rather spend the rest of his life in a cage.
You gave your word, Lethe shot back. I didn’t.
Lannes felt her hammer on the inside of his mind, and her desperation was as raw as his, wild and crazed. What are you doing?
Give yourself to me, she said, her mental voice breaking on the words. Let me have control over your body. It’ll be my fight then, not yours. No broken promises.
No.
Then I’m staying.
The stone was almost to his eyes. He looked at the queen over Lethe’s body and found her staring at him with cold pleasure. The Sidhe knew, he realized. She knew exactly what Lethe was doing. The queen wanted it that way. To imprison them both.
Trust me, Lethe whispered in his mind. I know you have no reason to, I know what this means, Lannes. But trust me.
Trust her. Trust a member of the same family that had tortured him, tried to force him into giving what she was asking for now, freely. His soul.
I’d rather be in hell, she whispered. Rather in hell with you than anywhere else.
Lannes felt the same.
Take it, he told her, free-falling inside his heart, opening the last, most precious part of him to her mind. Take it all, Lethe.
And she did, but it felt like being buoyed by a sea of pure light, and her love washing over him was so brilliant, so desperate and powerful, he felt more alive in that moment than in any other. As though his skin were made of the sun.
Until he lost himself in that light, and Lethe took over his body.
It was not painful. It was not frightening. She slipped around him like a glove, and it was as though every lonely moment of his life, every hurt and slight and fear, was eased away by the gentleness of her spirit.
If we stay like this forever, she whispered, we’ll be all right.
But even as Lethe spoke those words, Lannes felt another blossom of light, a force anchored to her spirit.
Runa.
He heard no words, but he felt something pass between Runa and the Sidhe quee
n, a heave of light and energy that was as heavy and sharp as the edge of a knife. Turmoil, a ripple beyond him, in the forest. He was stone now, as he had been years ago with the witch, but he felt no fear, no pain. Just Lethe. He clung to her soul—she clung to him—and they were so close in that moment, he was convinced that no force, nothing in this world or the next, would ever separate them.
Until, quite abruptly, the stone disappeared from his body and he could move again.
Lannes fell forward, gasping. Lethe was inside him, and her body was on the ground, breathing but still as death. He did not hesitate. He hauled her into his arms and staggered to his feet. On his left, Runa was gone from the roots of the oak.
Her flesh had been golden and shining, and now there was nothing left but bone and rock and moss. The Sidhe queen knelt in the shadows of the great tree, her pale face hidden.
“Go,” she whispered. “Both of you, go. You fools. Runa gave her life for you both.”
Lethe curled away from his mind, leaving a cold empty spot in his soul. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath. Her heart pounded. Lannes swayed, weak in the knees, the separation of their minds making him feel as though he were dying all over again.
“Why are you allowing this?” he asked.
The queen closed her eyes. “Because I take, and I take. And though I take because I love, nothing remains, nothing keeps. What I take, I kill. Except for one woman. One woman I freed. Lucy Steele. And she returned to me again and again to sit outside my cage and read.” Her mouth twisted into a snarl, tears glimmering in her eyes. “And it made me weak. Weak enough to give once more.”
She flung out her arm, silver bells chiming. “Go.”
Lannes did not argue. He ran, and the forest melted around him like some bizarre dream, though it was not his imagination that trees bent and the ferns danced, and that the brambles twisted like skeletal hands.
He saw sunlight. He burst free.
And he was back in the meadow, Lethe in his arms. She was alive. Burning a hole through his heart.
Lannes fell on his knees. He heard shouts, feet pounding. Shadows fell over him. Lethe’s eyes fluttered open, and her face crumpled when she saw him. Lannes kissed her mouth, shaking.
The Wild Road Page 27
