Eversworn: Daughters of Askara, Book 3

by Hailey Edwards

  “Dillon?” Mason’s shaggy blond head popped in the tent. “What are you two doing here?”

  Isabeau slipped to her feet and stood behind Dillon with her face buried against his back.

  “I was making my rounds. I saw the tent had been tampered with, so I investigated.”

  After clearing his throat, Mason said, “Same here. Russ reported unusual activity, so I came to check it out.” His face glowed red. “I heard…well, I could tell someone was in here.” He tipped his chin toward Isabeau. “I’m sorry for the disturbance, ma’am. I was just doing my job.”

  “Wait—wasn’t Russ patrolling the perimeter of the mines? When did he report in?”

  “About ten minutes ago, I guess.” Mason frowned. “How long have you been here?”

  “Less than five,” Dillon said. “We must have just missed them.” Glancing over his shoulder to ensure Isabeau was covered, he stroked her arm in silent order to remain still. “We might have spooked them, but there’s a cut the width of my thumb opposite the flap. Big enough the seams bulged where the canvas pulled, but not big enough for a body to squeeze through to the inside.”

  Now that his head was clearing, his blood pressure rose. Trust had never been an issue. As far as he knew all the colonists were on the level. So who would try and enter the tent, and why?

  “That’s good news at least.” Mason glanced past Isabeau to the sled. “Nothing was taken?”

  “Nothing I noticed.” Ignoring how he kept shifting to keep himself between her and Mason, he forced himself to focus. “I still had to work the laces to get in. I doubt someone we interrupted would have stopped and tied it up on their way out. So they must have bailed when we arrived.”

  “Okay, next question.” Mason tapped the sled. “You want me to take care of this for you?”

  “I’ve got it.” He faced Isabeau, pretending this wasn’t an escape. “I’ve got to handle this.”

  “Of course.” Her swollen lips curved in a temping smile. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

  He grabbed her shirtfront as she passed and dragged her close. He didn’t have to, but he kissed her, hard, refreshing the memories of all the males present that she was his. “Be careful.”

  She nodded. “Does your invitation stand, or would my waiting in your tent be a mistake?”

  “It’s a mistake.” Resisting the urge to kiss away her frown, he played his part. “But if I get there and you’re not there, then you better hope like hell you can outrun me twice in one night.”

  Her eyes glittered. “Don’t tempt me.” Her hips swayed in sweet invitation as she passed.

  “And, Isabeau?”

  She hesitated before turning. “Yes?”

  “Lose the shirt.” His voice turned hoarse without even trying. “Leave the rest.”

  Laughter trailed her from the tent. Dillon followed two steps before Mason chuckled.

  “Emma will skin you alive if you hurt her.” He sounded amused. “You know that, right?”

  “Nothing is going to happen.” That he wanted it to was dangerous enough.

  “Famous last words.” Mason watched her go. “If you’re not going, can I go in your place?”

  He was joking. Dillon knew it. He gritted his teeth. “Try it.”

  Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Really? It wouldn’t bother you at all if I—?”

  Dillon’s hand closed around Mason’s neck before the move registered. “What do you think?”

  Gasping for breath, Mason pried from Dillon’s grip and stumbled back a step. “I was thinking after the way you acted earlier that something’s going on with you.” He rubbed his throat. “You’re running hot and cold, and it’s more than just your leg or your job. You’re wired.”

  “I’m not—” Dillon stopped himself. Mason was the one male he didn’t want to start lying to. “I’ll deal with it.”

  “Will you? You haven’t so far.” He stared in the direction Isabeau had gone.

  “It’s not her fault.” The defense was automatic.

  “Yeah, it is. You might not see it, but I do.” He patted Dillon’s shoulder. “All joking aside, something’s wrong. You’ve always been ornery, aggressive, but I figure after what you went through…” when Dillon growled at him, Mason amended, “…not that I know the details, but I figured you had the right to carry that chip on your shoulder. Since you met Isabeau, it’s worse.”

  Dillon’s throat tightened. “Get to the point.”

  “My dad believes every Evanti had a set number of years in him before…” Mason’s expression shuttered. “Before mating becomes an imperative.” His voice cracked, a kid convincing himself what he said next was the truth. “He loves my mother, he does, but he’s convinced that meeting her was a right-time, right-place kind of deal. That he was ready to mate and she was…” He left the sentence hanging. “The point is, you’re getting older. Clayton settled down and now Harper has too.” He held his hands up to fend off Dillon’s response. “All I’m saying is being single is great.” He grimaced. “But there comes a time when you want more, no matter what you’ve been through or where you come from, you want one person who knows your worst and forgives it.”

  “You think I’m courting a mate.” Dillon’s mouth parched at the thought.

  “The signs are there.” Mason shrugged. “I take it you weren’t seeing them.”

  “I kissed Isabeau for her own good.” Dillon scowled when Mason coughed into his fist. “You saw how she showed up here. She was half naked, and every male in the colony was salivating at the border waiting on her to cross it.” His reasons had sounded logical in his head, yet rang hollow. “You saw that crowd.” He modulated his tone. “She would have been hurt if I hadn’t intervened. Then what would Emma have done? She would have strangled me for starters.”

  “And was making out here, in the tent, in the dark, after a suspected theft, all for her too?”

  The razor edge of sanity cut Dillon too late and not nearly deep enough. After Mason’s revelation, one thing was for damn sure. Dillon wasn’t going anywhere near that tent. Not tonight. Not until Isabeau left. “Drop what you’re doing and make sure Isabeau makes it to my tent. I don’t want her getting lost out here.” There were too many males eager for what she had to offer. “Post a trustworthy guard outside my tent. No one enters and she doesn’t leave. Got it?”

  Isabeau couldn’t be his, but damn if he’d let anyone else have her.

  I kept my back to the tent, giving the impression of awaiting my escort. Straining my ears, I listened to Mason and Dillon’s low murmurs behind me. One phrase stuck. I kissed Isabeau for her own good. I would have laughed if my chest weren’t so tight. His admission made my next move easier. I unbuttoned Dillon’s shirt and let it fall. Several males cut their eyes my way, but none of them approached me and none said anything untoward.

  I’d have to try harder.

  My fingers were trailing the fabric of my top when the flap rustled behind me. I jumped, arms snapping to my sides and heat rushing up the back of my neck. An apology balanced on the tip of my tongue before I noticed it was Mason and not Dillon who was staring at me quizzically.

  “Dillon said you’re staying with him tonight.” He made it sound like a bad move on my part.

  “He offered me his bed, yes.” My embarrassment was genuine. “We won’t be sharing it.”

  “Huh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “If you say so. You ready?”

  A glimpse at the tent flap showed me it was closed. “If you are.”

  Heeding Dillon’s advice, I began counting my steps so I could find my way back here.

  “I do have one question.” I let my fingers take over ticking off each stride so I could talk. “Where are my saddlebags?” The grimoire was invisible, for now, but it wasn’t intangible. Sweat beaded my lip from the strain of maintaining such a complex glamour from such a long distance. I couldn’t afford for someone to riffle through my bag and uncover the book while it was hungry.

  “Once
the dust cleared, I had them taken to Dillon’s tent. I figured that’s where you’d end up one way or the other.” He tripped. “Not that I meant— I thought you’d want to check his leg.”

  “Ah.” I let him stutter. Let the back of his neck blush under my stare.

  He ducked his head and kept walking. “I’m sorry about that, Miss Isabeau.”

  “It’s no problem,” I murmured, smiling when his accent thickened. We passed a gap in the tents, and a blast of wind sent my skirt swirling. I swallowed my modesty and allowed it to flutter higher until bits of sand hit the insides of my thighs, my backside. I did smooth the front. I guess even I had limits. Besides, playing the part of temptress had lost its appeal the moment Phineas’s interest exposed Dillon’s curiosity. If he thought I was Evanti, he wouldn’t settle for having sex with me in glamour. He’d want to see me for what I was, and when I revealed myself, all he’d see was me…plus the black runes inking my forearms downward. Sereian slave bands were as distinctive as the Askaran preference for full-body ownership tattoos. A glimpse would tell him what I was.

  And if he realized my reason for being here first, well, I knew how Roland handled spies. “I drank a lot of tea before I left.” Fear lent me courage to expedite my plan. “It was a long ride here.”

  He shrugged. “You get used to it. Before long, you don’t even notice the miles.”

  “It was a lot of tea.” I fell behind once I found a likely spot. “The trip was quite long.”

  “Oh.” Mason glanced over his shoulder. “Gotcha.” He turned, frowning. “The thing is, we only have one, um, restroom is a stretch, but you know what I mean, that’s outfitted for females. There just aren’t enough females living here to warrant more than one facility. Can you hold it?”

  I was relieved to learn that was still the case. I smiled, embarrassed. “I don’t think I can.”

  “Give me a minute.” He glanced past my shoulder, no doubt considering whether or not Dillon should be bothered with what should be a simple request. I decided to give him a nudge.

  “It’s dark.” I pointed at a gap between tents. “Those don’t look like residency tents. They’re supply tents, aren’t they? Can you check to see if they’re occupied? If they aren’t…” I gestured toward the deep shadows behind them. “I can be finished in minutes if you’ll watch out for me.”

  His focus slid back over my shoulder. “I don’t know. The walk isn’t that far.”

  After a longing glance cast toward the tents, I said on a heavy sigh, “I can try to make it.”

  The ploy was a familiar one. Any parent would recognize it. Children were masters of manipulation, Sereian or not, and I’d learned from the best. All parents were given a similar education, but Mason lacked a tutor. Memories of an impish smile sliced open my heart. I fought the urge to crack open my locket and touch the worn mementos inside. Reminisce later. Act now.

  “Hold what you’ve got.” Mason darted inside the nearest tent then the two beside them. “It’s clear.” He passed me a few sheets of a papery material. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

  “Thank you.” Stepping between the tents, I found a clear spot and squatted. A few tugs at my waistband and I slid the thin dagger I’d brought from the consulate from its hidden compartment. I scored a line across my hand and squeezed the cut until blood poured over my open palm into the sand. Once I’d made my offering to Zaniah, I used a dab of crimson on my fingertip and traced several runes into the sand. Before I finished the last side of the last one, the wind howled.

  I squinted as sand sprayed my face. The second phase of my plan had begun.

  Using the papers Mason had given me, I wiped my hands clean and tucked the sheets into the waistband of my skirt. I regretted leaving samples of my blood lying around in case Roland was closer than I realized, but he hardly needed stealth. He took what he wanted, and I let him have it.

  Pressing a hand to my stomach, I covered my jitters. My days of obeisance were numbered.

  “Isabeau?” Mason yelled over my storm.

  “I’m coming.” I kept my pace brisk, leading when I didn’t know the way to Dillon’s tent, desperate to put distance between the burgeoning spell and me.

  Mason jogged to catch up then herded me through the maze of tents in the right direction. Still I counted.

  When we reached the last tent at the end of a row, Mason said, “This is it. Casa de Preston.” He opened the flap and held it while I stepped inside. My saddlebags lay across a sturdy table strewn with notes. A modest cot flanked a pair of chests filled with clothes, I assumed, based on the shirtsleeve that had escaped the lid. A chair and a makeshift bookshelf rounded out the space.

  “Make yourself at home.” Mason gestured toward the shelves. “Dillon’s a reader, so I’m sure you’ll find something to keep you occupied until he returns.” He took a step, and something cracked under his heel. He scooped up whatever it had been. “Damn it. That’s twice this month.” Two spindly legs protruded from his fist.

  “What is it?” I leaned closer.

  He opened his hand. “A horse—or it used to be.” He fitted the sections together. “Not bad.”

  I stroked the rough mane. “It’s beautiful.” Wood shavings scattered around and beneath the table. Several knives were lined up beside a few blocks of wood unlike any I’d ever seen. One chunk was half block and half animal. “What’s that called?”

  “What is—? Oh, that’s a whale. They live in the oceans back home. I’m not sure if you have anything similar here.” He strolled over and tapped on the carving before setting down the horse.

  “I’ve never seen the Gray Sea or a…whale.” I wondered. “Did Dillon carve these?”

  “Yeah, it’s a hobby of his. I’m sure you noticed he doesn’t sleep much. My granddad, a human, taught him how to whittle. It grew into a hobby from there.” He shrugged. “The whale is his latest project. One of the colonists’ sons asked Dillon what the biggest animal was on Earth. They’re fascinated with the idea of life in other realms.” He laughed. “I guess it’s no different than when I wanted to be an astronaut.” I had no idea what he meant, but I nodded at the sentiment. “Dillon’s right. Whales are the largest ocean-dwelling animals, but I’m guessing he’ll get a kick out of letting Galvin think they walk around on flukes in the earthen colony for a while.”

  “I can’t picture him with children.” He was so coarse, and his language was enough to make any parent cringe. “Him talking to one or caring enough to spend hours on a project like this.” I picked up the horse carving—I couldn’t help it—and I fit the pieces together. I hoped he could repair it.

  Mason laughed at my expression. “It’s not so out of character for him. He’s a good guy.”

  The irony of my situation made me laugh. “He even likes children.”

  He hastened to correct me. “Like might be too strong a word. Tolerate is better, and then it’s on a case-by-case basis.” He frowned. “I don’t mean to build him up to tear him down, but if—”

  “I understand.” He had no reason to warn me away.

  I had been a mistress. I had born my master a child. I had entertained the ridiculous notion he would marry me. Being queen of Sere had not been my aspiration, more of a concession on my part. I hadn’t wanted a title or a crown. In loving Roland, I’d fallen into the trap so many other females had skirted before me. No male of power would cast aside his wife for his whore or his heir for his bastard. While I’d reflect upon Mason’s words and allow myself the occasional fantasy about Dillon and me, together, I’d never let those visions crack the veneer over my heart.

  “I think I’d better go.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Before I step in it again.”

  “Can I ask a favor before you do?” I waited for his nod. “I was thinking I should nap until Dillon arrives, but Emma mentioned something about a rash of scorpion bites a few months ago.” I rubbed at my arms. “I don’t think I can sleep until I know there aren’t any sharing the covers with
me.” I smiled apologetically. “After living in the city…would you mind checking?”

  “No problem.” He stepped between me and the cot. “We did have a nasty problem a few months back. The infestation kept our healers on their toes for weeks.” He gave the covers a toss. “Aldrich’s spell crafting has them under control now, so I wouldn’t worry too much.” He reached for the pillow. I inhaled. “All clear.” Heat twisted down my arm. “Now, if you need—”

  Before he straightened, I flattened my hand against one shoulder blade, and magic seared my fingertips as it blasted into him. His muscles clenched beneath my touch. His gasps made my lungs seize. The stink of charred flesh filled my nose, churned my gut. For me, the moment stretched past infinity, but all it took was just one touch, one spark, one instant caught unaware.

  Mason collapsed halfway across the bed. I grabbed his legs and swung him the rest of the way. After checking his pulse—erratic but strong—I tilted his head so his face no longer mashed into the sheets. As an afterthought, I covered him. The healer in me hovered, wasted time I didn’t have to spare. The mother in me cut that cord with a quick snip and snapped my goals into focus.

  Grab the bags. Free the grimoire. Find the tent. Bring the storm. Don’t look back.

  Chapter Five

  While peering through the tent flap, I reached for my necklace, but Dillon’s horse was crushed in my hand. I grasped my bags and tucked the halves inside. I should leave it, but I was reluctant to part with the carving. It was broken anyway. He wouldn’t want it. Clutching my locket, I tucked it into my top. That brief contact steadied my hands. With my saddlebags hung over one shoulder, I slipped from the tent. The aisle was clear and my path was straight. I set my shoulders back and made my stride sure. Counting beneath my breath, I covered half the distance before hairs rose on my nape. I spun around, but I was alone.

  “Roland?” I tried again. “Phineas?”

  All I heard was the howl of the wind and all I felt was sand pinging across my exposed skin.

  Rolling my shoulders, I dismissed my unease and resumed my counting. Three quarters of the way there, my skin crawled yet again. The grimoire had lent me its power, and its senses were keener than mine. My fingers tightened on the leather strap. This was a trick. The book wanted me to use what it offered. Magic pulsed in the air between us. The more I drew on it, the hungrier it got. If I used much more, I wouldn’t have blood enough to pay it if I wanted to live.