Taking turns glaring and avoiding each other’s stares was not aiding her coordination or his foul temper. “Wrong! Ye step with yer left, not your right foot.” His arm attempted to right her in the other direction, dragging her heels across the painted floor of the Armory. The gramophone looked odd enough in a room full of weapons, never mind the fuzzy violin music emanating from its horn.
Amie broke from his embrace and the cool heat his touch thrilled in her. “I can’t do this with you yelling in my ear!” She nearly blanched when his eyes lit with cold fury, burgeoning accusation. Dropping her arms, he turned his back to her and dug his fingers through his unruly black hair. “What?” she said. “Can’t handle a human girl who isn’t falling all over herself to please you?”
He shook himself, barked a laugh and mumbled words too silent for her to catch.
“Come again? You need to speak up when you talk to me, since I’m just a human and so easy to take advantage of.”
“You don’t understand anything, Jessamiene!” Emrys seethed when she forced him back round to face her.
Voices whispered around them and Amie shivered as she could have sworn she felt someone touch her arm and her leg. Perhaps it was that rather than the heated look in his eyes that made her lose her mind, finally. “I am sick and tired of people telling me I can’t understand! Do you really think it helps any of you by keeping me in the dark here? If you wanted me to help you so badly you should have had a clue and asked first.”
Stepping back from her touch, he blinked as though startled, then narrowed his dark orbs suspiciously. “Why do ye speak in riddles, lass?”
Amie rolled her eyes, delved a bit deeper into the ring’s secret magic and gasped as she felt the power of a curse lingering over the house. It was a black, dripping thing to her mind’s eye. Like a thickly woven spider’s web, it had been bound tight and securely. Without tearing her gaze from the curse, she whispered, “Do you remember the first time we kissed?”
Emrys shifted on his feet, stumbled even at her blunt question as though it actually affected him. “Aye.”
“Something happened to me. I could feel you differently after that. Up until this morning I’ve been able to tell when you’re coming before you even get there.” Keeping a neutral expression was difficult when she wanted so much to nix him. Emrys’ eyes widened when she began to slowly advance towards him. “You said you’d tell me what I wanted to know. I want to know who you really are and why you tell me things the others don’t want me to know. Why did my dad leave all those years ago and who is hunting us?”
His eyes focused anywhere but her. It was some time before he spoke, during which he turned his head listening to things her ears were ill attuned to. “What are ye trying to prove?”
Amie clenched her fists, containing the energy flowing from her fingertips. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself, but you saved my life the night I was attacked. If you hadn’t been there and...fixed me…I wouldn’t be alive. I want to know why you saved my life.”
“Jessamiene, this isn’t the time or the place,” he growled, when she hit him square in the chest with her fist. Silence followed between them, through which Emrys’ eyes lingered on her lips and Amie tried to get a grip.
You’re losing it, Wenderdowne…calm down and focus! You’ve got him right where you want him.
Emrys stared at her clenched fist and slowly lifted a scarred hand to cover it. Tension thickened the haunted room, echoing still with the memories of lifetimes ago. In a pulse-pounding moment, he played with her fingertips, slowly coaxing them loose while fingering the translucent vein of her wrist.
She stared at his hands, the scarring which had captivated her attentions about him. He had never told her how he obtained those scars, too numerous and overlapping to count. And as he recognized her attention, remembered the night he pulled her from the faerie garden and first felt her tug at his soul, Emrys softened.
“Ask me again after the Ball tomorrow night, and I shall tell you.” Their eyes locked and the shadows in his eyes threatened to draw her in. Before she could protest he propelled her back into his arms, knocked her into his chest and steadied her with a hand at her waist. In a decidedly gentler voice he continued, “’Tis no time to speak of war yet, love. The enemy is powerful, and while your uncle prefers to hide behind a witch’s skirts, I tell ye they will come. They will come and there be nothing ye can do to stop them. Only learn to savor peace while it lasts. Learn to enjoy the moment. In a thousand years I’ve learned that sometimes ’tis all we have.”
Amie couldn’t breathe when he held her like this, the memory of his consuming kisses so close to her thoughts, the hours they had spent laboring over her latent gifts. Everything Amie knew of her new identity came from him. And maybe he knew this, could see through her as much as she couldn’t see through him.
“Now, shall we try the lackadaise again?” His brow quirked into an arch, ochre eyes caressing the parts of her face his fingers could never again.
Savoring her befuddled silence, Emrys the Merlin drew her to him and danced.
…
She pushed the gown’s luminescent fabric down, watched it sparkle in the dying light of her window. Beams of sunlight reflected off the full-length mirror of her wardrobe and caught the space above her eyes and Amie felt the complete grip of her supernatural heritage. She should have been excited, should have run down to the gnome’s garden and shown Puck what his distant cousins had sewn for her.
It was the first time she tried on one of the dresses Morcant had ordered for her. Amie didn’t want to know how the witch had known her measurements. Underhill had been ecstatic once they pulled Rado and the faerie’s creation over her head. Hours later, Amie still couldn’t believe she looked this good.
Not like I’m going to strut or anything like Saturday Night Fever.
Passing time before the dreaded dinner in the Dining Hall with Henry and Emrys, she wandered the castle aimlessly, hoping to find another way besides the kitchens or castle doors to reach outside. Both exits were too frequented and defeated the purpose of sneaking out.
Dancing lessons with Emrys had ended with Amie stepping purposely on his toes, making some awkward excuse and running out of the room like an adolescent. She knew better and still she feared the way this wight made her feel. She knew he was bad news, was way beyond it actually. But there had been such promise in his eyes as he regarded her then, Amie was worried she wouldn’t be able to keep a level head around him anymore.
She expanded the orb in her hand and turned to a pitch-black tapestry in front of her.
Weird…
None of the tapestries were this dark, besides those scorched in the west wing.
Her ring burned on her finger and somehow she knew what was waiting behind the threadbare fabric. Shoving the tapestry aside, Amie found a rusted-over door knob. Gritting her teeth, she twisted it and nearly sprained her wrist and grinned when it clicked open.
The tunnel she discovered was dank, the air thick with disuse. Here was the sort of place smells clung to. The further she walked the more the outside had pressed its way in.
Must have been some escape tunnel.
She cringed at the thought that the men who made it might not have escaped after all and trod more carefully.
A silver sliver of moonlight cast its shadow in the near distance. Quickening her step to meet it, she didn’t have the patience to scout ahead with her inner nixy. It was still a new concept for her, being able to probe her surroundings and identify other people’s signatures.
From the shadows a pair of bold blue eyes watched her with increasing anger. A pair of muscle-bound arms lifted her back into the air and crushed her into a solid chest. She didn’t shout or scream. Instead a keening wail rose up from deep in her throat, an inhuman cry accompanied the silvery streams of energy escaping her skin. The silver tendrils looked like an electrical current as they entered his skin. As she bucked and kicked his shins, his bare hand claspe
d her neck and then the real pain began.
Flames erupted from his hands around her neck. Yet for some reason they felt wet instead of scalding, almost like a caress. But the pain of his touch made them break apart at last. Whirring around on unsteady heeled feet, she faced him, a fresh light sphere pushed up in his face.
“Dearg!” she exclaimed. “What the crap?” Her voice shook as her body trembled with relief.
His skin still glowed like freshly stoked coals, like the light trapped within a glass lantern. Dearg braced his hand on the opposite wall in an effort to temper his fury. “Amie, what are you doing down here alone? You could have been killed or worse!” The anger etched in his brow contrasted with his even tone.
Shaking her head, she countered, “Why did you do that? You scared me half to death!”
“I came for you. You should not be down here alone. Could you not feel it was I?” He brushed up against her, eyes boring into hers with a heat too close for comfort, and passed.
Amie laughed and shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, right? I mean, there’s always one snatch and grab scene in these kinds of stories…” He only looked down over her curiously in return, and waving the thought aside she said, “Never mind.”
Stepping closer to her space, he spoke even lower, in a rough voice she sensed was more natural to him yet rarely used.
“I’ve been looking for you because I feared for your safety. All is not well on the edge of the Borderlands. We mustn’t let them snatch you.”
Amie wasn’t sure whether he wanted her to follow him, even if he was the reason she skipped dinner with Henry and Emrys.
“Are you coming or not?” His voice fell over her with a draft of wind several steps ahead. “Come. You can nay go the way you came. Who knows who could be watching.”
“Who, the Mob? SWAT team maybe? You know for some hermit who claims to never get out, you sure seem to know a lot about the castle. And what did you mean, feel you nearby?”
Dearg shook his head and opened the outer gate. It was more like a round pothole, or a hobbit door, Amie decided. Hobbits were the main people she was desperately hoping were real too.
Why not? Everything else is in this circus.
Once Dearg had cleared the surface he stuck out a hand to aid her. Amie blinked mistrustfully at it. The last time she had seen that hand it was around her neck.
“Amie…”
The moment her nickname fell from his lips she remembered all their fireside chats and her heart warmed. Nodding, she slipped her fingers into his grip and clasped his wrist. He lifted her out of the earth in one smooth tug. Apparently she was supposed to land somewhere on the frosted grass beside him and would have if she hadn’t panicked at the last second. But a strange sense of helplessness dangling above a black pit stole her senses. She swung under his grip and collided on top of him instead, sending them both sprawling onto the ground.
“Oof!” They both exhaled on impact. Dearg groaned and blinked up as Amie peeked through a cloud of curls.
Wincing at his pained expression, she smirked. “Sorry.”
He smiled. “Guess we’re even now.” And then his hand crept from her upper to lower back while the other moved to slide into her hair.
Amie stared transfixed into his blue eyes. Sparks danced within them even now, began to burn brighter the further she leaned into him. She wasn’t going to lie. This felt more than brilliant, it was transcendent, euphoric, addictive and strangely right.
And weren’t you cozying up to you-know-who like three hours ago?
Snowflakes dusted her hair and shoulders, shielding him from the pain water brought him. Suddenly Amie was very aware of the hard body responding beneath her, the arms trapping her closer to him. She could hear the pounding of his double-chambered heart and frowned.
A flash of insecurity entered his face. “What is it?”
“You have two hearts?”
He flinched as though she had said something forbidden. “Aye.”
Amie yelped when he suddenly stood, keeping her locked in his arms. She watched the snow melt and steam on his thermal skin and she dragged her fingers up to brush the wetness away. Everywhere her fingers touched, a glowing trail lingered on the surface of his skin. A struggle began in his eyes as she wrapped her hands around his neck and sank her face into his chest. She knew how ridiculous they must look right now, her flouncy blue princess gown versus his wise winter wear. She wasn’t even wearing proper boots. But as long as he held her Amie couldn’t even feel the cold.
“Dearg, can you take me away from here?”
His grip tightened over her sparkling ballroom skirts, spilling over his hands and pooling around them. “Away?” His blacksmith muscles flexed when she breathed his scent in.
“I need to get away from the house for a few hours. Think you can help me?” When she pulled back to meet his eye she was unprepared for the flames circling in his irises and the smile splitting his face in two.
“You are certain?” he asked. At her answering nod he glanced around them.
Amie saw they were on the opposite edge of the garden, where stone melded with the forest. Dearg met her eyes briefly before clutching her more tightly and walking into the woods.
His stride took them farther and much more quickly away from any place she knew. Soon the shadows beneath the trees seemed deeper as the underbrush grew thicker. The air tasted differently, older and tinged with something special, a white-hot energy. She felt the physical sense of loss when they stepped over the boundary of Wenderdowne lands. Yet Dearg didn’t seem to notice, or care, and she had to wonder what made him so worried he would lead her so far away from everyone else. Unlike the day Emrys left her in the woods in his own twisted way of teaching her a lesson, Amie wasn’t afraid.
Maybe it’s because I really do trust him, she marveled, because trust was the thing she struggled most with.
Silences were comfortable with Dearg, always giving Amie room to think for herself. This was one of the many reasons she had sought refuge in his hut so often these past nights. How Dearg managed to haul all one hundred and forty pounds of her around, bridal style, was beyond human logic. By the laws of Sir Isaac Newton he should have dropped her by now. But whenever she began to twist away he only clutched her thigh and backside tighter.
“What are you doing?” He spoke into her ear and shivers rushed down her spine and straight to the pressure of his hands below.
“I’m kind of heavy.”
“And you expect me to let ye shiver to death?” A rush of fresh heat pushed from his body and covered her for emphasis.
“Of course not, my Lord.”
His grip tightened, frustration creeping into his voice. “Amie, ye know so little of our world. Some will try to take advantage of you.”
Biting her lower lip, she answered, “Some already have… Whoa!”
Dearg pressed her back into a nearby tree trunk so he could pull away while maintaining a steady grip on her thighs. When he moved a hand to trail yellow flames up her jewel-studded dress, it took all the self-control she possessed to not lean into his touch.
His eyes were what stopped her, burning brightly in light of the moon as he asked, “Who’s taken advantage of you?”
Pressing a hand to his chest, she rolled her eyes. “Nobody! Look, I was just being melodramatic. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
His eyes hardened. He wasn’t buying it. Father always warned her to tell the truth. And anyone but Dearg would have barraged her until she caved in. But Dearg wouldn’t press her for answers. Sometimes she wondered if this was so she wouldn’t ask any questions.
Then she realized his hands had stopped just short of her low neckline to gently pull the fabric lower. He glared at her chest until Amie started to wonder if there was something wrong with her chest.
Wait, there’s actually a man who doesn’t like good knockers? What a revelation!
“Do you remember where did you get this sc
ar?”
Amie froze, tried to shift under his touch and realized he had effectively pinned her down.
Not exactly the fantasy I pictured, but oh well.
“Amie?” His voice softened, hoarse from countless years spent over the bellows and under the open sky.
For a reason she didn’t begin to try and dissect, she told him. “The night I decided to come to Silver Hollow I was attacked.” Her scar ached with an old familiar pain. “I never really saw who did it, but it scared me so bad I knew I’d be an idiot not to listen to Henry’s letter.”
Dearg was silent so long Amie looked up to meet his eyes. His response surprised her.
“You should leave this place and never come back if you know what’s good for you.”
“I don’t believe you.” She tried to pry out of his embrace and he held her wrists above her head.
“I’m serious. You’re in over your head, lass. This goes far beyond the dangers of the human world. There are worse things here that don’t want you to ascend and they would do anything to stop it.”
For the longest moment Amie almost believed him. She didn’t have a clue what ascending meant for her, but tucked it into the back of her mind. Rage brimmed and tossed about his eyes again, the same she had seen when he grabbed her. But behind the stirred flames was something deeper resembling fear.
“You don’t look like you mean it.”
His gaze traveled from her eyes to linger on her lips and Amie felt a different kind of heat. “Please, Amie. You’re not making this easy.”
Softly she asked, lowering her gaze to his lips, “You want me to stay, don’t you?”
“Creator help me, yes,” he breathed and lifted her from the tree into his arms.
Silver Hollow Page 28
