“I am a healer.” My self-assurance fell short. What sort of healer uses her talents against the lives under her care? A desperate healer with a narrower goal than benefiting Harper’s many.
My steps came heavier now. I was wearing down, ready to fall down if I were being honest. I took one step, and this time my leg snagged. With a jerk, I freed it and carried on another two steps before the opposite leg caught. I glanced down, and a low whimper passed through my lips.
Desert swirled below me and suckled the toe of my boot. Grains abraded the leather, and in a panicked flash I imagined the same weary grind against my flesh, my bones. My voice failed as I mouthed the words sand trap. I caged my panic as the hum of spell crafting whirled beneath me.
Don’t panic. One step forward and… I was stuck.
Sand traps were magical remnants of failed roadways or forgotten buildings. Others were strong spells gone awry and gone to ground. Once their tethers were cut, the strongest sections broke free. With no spell crafter to rein them in, they scoured the desert, mindless predators in search of energy to consume. Now I hopped as my ankle mired in the hungry void churning ever closer to my other foot. The ground beneath me began shifting as the sand trap spun farther out.
“Give me your hand,” a masculine voice growled from over my shoulder.
I started, putting weight on my stuck foot and sinking lower. Stumbling, I pitched forward.
“Isabeau,” he snapped. “Give me your damn hand.”
With clumsy effort, I threw my arm behind me and let Dillon’s rough hand enclose mine.
The soft assurance of Isabeau’s hand in his allowed Dillon his first easy breath since witnessing her attack on Osher. She’s safe. His jaw set. Safe was a relative term considering why he was here now. When she glanced over her shoulder, those dark eyes of hers met his. The skin beneath them was smudged with exhaustion. His chest wound tight. I shouldn’t give a damn.
“It’s a sand trap.” Most city-dwellers hadn’t encountered them before and they panicked. That spike of energy was all the encouragement most traps needed to chomp on their next meal.
Other than when he’d surprised her, she hadn’t moved. She appeared remarkably calm.
Her chin upped a notch. “I know what it is.”
Why wasn’t he surprised? “Do you know how to get out?”
This time her answer came slower. “I’m not sure I can.”
If she’d been any other thief, female or not, he would have left her there and called justice served, but this was Isabeau. If she was Evanti, their race couldn’t afford to lose her. Females were too rare, even the troublesome ones—as if they came in any other flavor. Besides the fact she had saved his leg, she’d hovered at his bedside for months during his recovery. He owed her the benefit of the doubt. Justice would not be meted by him jumping to a wrong conclusion.
Damn those were lame excuses. The bottom line was, his skin itched with glamour now that he was touching her again. Even if he decided to leave, he wouldn’t get far. He was stuck as tight as she was. A single thought jostled past the others, something his father had said when Dillon caught his parents kissing and made the mistake of wrinkling his nose at them.
Primes mate for life. Father had turned a heartbroken smile on Mother. It is too short a time.
He must have known, even then, what the ancients had planned. Dillon’s parents both died days later, protecting their children from Askaran enslavement. Both had died for nothing. His brothers were lost to different masters. He thought he remembered a sister. Now he wasn’t sure.
“Dillon?” Isabeau’s voice snapped him to attention. Her gaze drifted from him to his horse. He almost laughed. Stuck in magical quicksand and she was already planning her escape by stealing Diani. “Are you helping me out or holding me down until the sand trap finishes its job?”
“As tempting as that is, I can see salt cubes in your top.” He cleared his throat when she arched her brows. “I’m going to get you out, and then you’re going to tell me where the rest is.”
She nodded. “Fair enough.”
He exhaled with relief that they were acting civil. “You’re too weak to do this the easy way, so the hard way it is.” His chest wound tight with undeniable anticipation. “Drop your glamour.”
Her eyes rounded. “Excuse me?”
“You know how these traps work. They’re attracted to energy. You’re wearing glamour, I can feel it. I bet the trap does too. Drop it, and it will be easier for me to get you out,” he coaxed. She began struggling in his grip and sinking deeper into the sand. “Stop fighting me. I’m here to help you.”
“You’re here to retrieve your salt.” She didn’t sound too happy about the prospect. Noticing how far she’d sunk, she held still. “I’m not lowering my glamour. Help me get out another way.”
Maybe he had sounded too eager to see beneath her illusion. “What if I don’t look?”
“That’s a dirty trick.” She scoffed. “I’m trapped, and you’re forcing me to expose myself.”
“I’m asking you to help me save your life.”
Her lips formed a mulish line no words could squeeze past.
The ground shifted beneath his feet. A glance down confirmed the trap was inching his way. “If we don’t start soon, the trap will be under me and I’ll have no choice but to leave you.” Her fingers tightened around his. “Don’t make me choose your life or mine. I’m selfish. You’ll lose.”
Her indelicate snort said she didn’t believe him, probably because his voice had cracked under the stress and he wouldn’t have believed himself, either. “Isabeau,” he warned.
“I’m sorry. I can’t.” She tried releasing his hand. “I don’t want you to risk yourself. You can’t afford injury to your leg out here in case you encounter raiders on the way to the colony.”
“Suit yourself.” His protective instincts screamed denial as he let her go. Stubborn fingers refused to pry loose and got tangled in her bracelet. With a quick jerk, he snatched free, chain in hand. Isabeau’s head snapped toward him. Her sharp glance from her wrist to his hand had him closing his fingers over his prize. She hopped on one foot and clawed at the air, reaching for him.
Oh yes, she wanted this back bad enough to fight him and the trap for it.
As if realizing her mistake, she stood tall as her one leg allowed and ordered, “Give it back.”
“What, this?” He dangled the locket between them.
Isabeau swiped at him. He danced back a step. She scowled. He grinned. Now we’re talking.
“Dillon, please.” Her gaze hadn’t left his hand. “It’s mine and I want it back.”
He laughed, startling them both. “So says the thief. I should take this, and you, as my due.” He bit the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t meant to add that last part. Glamour rippled on his skin.
Her eyes widened. “Are you—?”
“I’m fine.” He grunted under the strain of repairing his illusion. Once it snapped into place, he didn’t waste time worrying over how she stared at the sand at his feet instead of his eyes. Had she seen…? He shook his head. It didn’t matter. “Sorry about this.” He kicked the bend of her knee and watched it buckle, heard her panicked gasp as she dropped backwards and hit the sand.
“What are you—?” She tilted her head back, and the betrayal in her eyes made him pause.
“You wanted to do this the hard way.” He tucked her necklace into his pocket and reached down. “Hold my hands.” She grasped his wrists. “Now that your weight is off that foot, I want you to work it in a slow circle. Make some room so the energy flows down and dilutes the sand.”
A raspy chuckle made him stare. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”
“This is standard legionnaire training.” Talking seemed to take her mind off her predicament, so he kept going. “The recruits from Earth are grass-green and have no idea what they’re facing here. Back home, magic doesn’t exist. Yeah, there’s glamour, but it’s like wearing clothes
. All the earthborn Evanti begin learning concealment from birth.” To live among humans, they had to. “But that’s the thing, by making it everyday ordinary, it loses that spark.”
She grunted. “You show them there’s more to glamour than using it as a disguise.”
“Someone has to. It’s dangerous here.” He frowned at her. “Glamour is different here. It’s more because there are different demon breeds and different means of manipulation. Sand traps are perfect teaching tools. They’re more scavenger than predator and easy enough to escape if you keep a level head.” He noticed her foot was free except for her toes and began walking backwards slow and steady. “It’s a good lesson in how magic corrupts its containers, becomes sentient, and how remaining aware means we avoid falling prey to it or more malicious breeds.”
“You don’t care much for the other breeds.” Her breath caught when he pulled too hard.
He had never considered it in those terms, but, “No. I don’t.” His admission gave voice to a creeping suspicion that maybe he wasn’t all that different from the purists who only wanted him for his blood. If he wasn’t denying his disinterest in other breeds, then he was admitting his libido had only sparked for one female whose breed remained a mystery. One he feared solving.
“Hmm.” Isabeau didn’t reply. Her lids were drooping. Not a good sign.
“Hold tight.” One more tug and she pulled free with a hushed groan that sent him stumbling back. His bad leg buckled and he fell. She landed with a grunt on top of him. For a minute, they lay there and caught their breaths. His spine was board straight, and Isabeau was spread eagle across him. The back of her head rested on his crotch while her arms and legs sprawled over his.
Dillon gave up hope of concealing his reaction to her, but before he jabbed her in the neck, he sat up and grasped her shoulders, pushing her upright so she sat between his legs. His efforts were wasted. She slumped against his chest, her head falling back on his shoulder. His cock pressed snug against her ass. The hard part ought to be coming up with an excuse that didn’t involve a flashlight and a front pants pocket, but he barely managed not to rock his hips forward.
“We need to talk.” When she didn’t answer, he turned his face into her hair and inhaled. His nape stung in warning before spines erupted down his neck. Where his hands gripped her shoulders, they contrasted dark against light. Fuck no. She gasped. He stuttered. “I can explain.”
Her face turned toward his. Not a gasp, a snore. “Isabeau?” he asked to be certain.
In answer, she buried her nose against his throat. “Hmm?”
“Nothing.” His arms were stiff where he folded them around her waist. He ought to move. No one was immune to the desert heat. Linger here and he’d become as dehydrated as she was. Then they’d be prey for sand traps, raiders or other godforsaken scavengers combing the dunes.
The soft puff of her breath across his neck froze him in place. Her fingers tangled with his, and she made a low moan in the back of her throat. She’d been out here for the better part of a day before he had found her. Sun sickness might have set in, but he’d bet thirst was the culprit.
He glanced around. No horse and no more salt. Enough cubes were shoved down her top to prove she’d been the one to steal them, but where was the rest? The best he could figure was her partner had ditched her and escaped with the bulk of their loot, leaving her with enough evidence to incriminate her. Brought to justice or left to die. Either way, her partner would be free and clear.
All she had were the clothes on her back and a battered locket. Something about it had her fired up and ready to fight him for it. Was it stolen too? It must be more valuable than it looked.
Careful not to jostle Isabeau, Dillon leaned to one side and dug in his pocket. His hand closed over warm metal, and he withdrew the necklace to get a good look at it. It was oval, plain. Scratches marred the cover, and the clasp had seen better days. Spots of bronze shined through where someone or something had rubbed past the silver plate. When he popped open the clasp, a bit of string fell onto the sand. Fumbling, he tried to catch it but missed because his gaze was glued inside the locket, where a miniature portrait of a miniature Isabeau stared back at him.
His same primal core that waked whenever Isabeau was near raged against the implication she belonged to another male. She was his. “No, she isn’t.” Saying the words aloud didn’t help.
On his third attempt, he managed to break from the tiny face staring back at him to see what else she’d kept in there. Part of him hoped this was an heirloom piece. It would explain the wear on the finish. The little girl was Isabeau’s twin, so maybe she was Isabeau when she was a child.
Shaking sand from the string, he realized it wasn’t thread. It was a lock of braided hair. He swallowed. It could still be hers. When he lifted it to his nose and inhaled fresh violets, he knew.
Isabeau had a child.
Did she also have a mate?
His nose pressed against her hair, smelling pears. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” This changed everything. He had hard questions to ask and he better damn well like her answers.
Chapter Seven
Footsteps jarred me from sleep. I jerked upright and groaned as the world spun before my eyes. Darkness enveloped all sides of me but one. Glaring sunlight illuminated a long…tunnel? My eyes watered as I squinted. Blinking my surroundings into focus, I saw rock walls and scattered debris. My hand went to my necklace, and the knot in my chest loosened until the sound of boot hitting stone made my heart skitter. Where was I? The last thing I remembered was the…
“You’re awake. Good.”
I jumped at the sound of Dillon’s voice.
Rays of sun poured over his shoulder, blacking out his face and keeping me from reading his expression. His tone was neutral, his shoulders relaxed. A better reception than I had anticipated.
I shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Where are we?”
“No ‘thanks for saving my life’?” He grunted. “Guess I should have seen that coming.”
Spine straight as I could make it, I said, “I didn’t need your help, but thank you.”
Nodding, he walked until his boot nudged my leg. He squatted and offered me a cool tin. I snatched it from his hands and took one hard gulp before he ripped it from my hand. “What—?”
“Sip nice and slow.” He rocked back on his heels. “If you chug the water, you’ll vomit it right back up and the next batch won’t be nearly as cool or as clean. I promise you that.”
The first sip made my throat quiver. Another sip, then another, until I was gulping fast as the water hit my mouth. Dillon reached for my hand, but it was too late. I’d drunk it all and I heaved.
“Damn it.” He rose and stepped back while I emptied my stomach at his feet. “I told you to take it easy.” Once I finished, he grabbed me around the waist, sending a fresh wave of nausea roiling through my tender stomach, and then carried me to a nearby rock and set me on the edge.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
He glanced up, nodded. “Tilt your head back.”
I did as I was told, and the tunnel spun around me. Before I could complain, more of the same delicious coolness trickled across my parched lips. I opened my mouth, and Dillon poured me a swallow at a time. Enough I was desperate for more, but not enough I gagged or choked.
“That’s enough for now.” Something rough swiped across my mouth, his shirt.
After I processed his words, I lowered my chin and met his gaze. His eyes were my favorite of his features. It was no chore for me to stare into them and wait for him to begin his questions.
After a moment, he rolled his shoulders and reached behind his head. Scratching his neck, he withdrew bloodied fingers. Crouching before me, he wiped at his hands. “We need to talk.”
“What happened?” Sickness cast aside, I rose and circled him. “Why are you bleeding?”
“It’s nothing.” He whirled before I reached his back. “Sit down before you hurt yourself.”<
br />
Dodging his arm, I glared up at him. “Did something happen? I didn’t—” Blood drained in an icy rush from my face. I tried again, hating how my voice shook. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No. You didn’t.” His eyes darkened, and I knew he was thinking of those I had hurt.
“Oh.” Cursing my twisted thoughts, I grasped the simplest answer and held tight. “I thought I might have scratched you. You don’t want to risk another bacterial infection from unclean sand in your wound. Losing a leg is one thing, but an aggressive infection near your spine is another.”
He blinked, considering. A roll of his shoulder dismissed the danger. Stubborn male.
“You never said where we were.” I rubbed my arms as I peered down the darkened maw.
“Think about it.” He stood at my shoulder and stared too.
The bottom dropped from my stomach. Natural caves were rare, and these walls were far too smooth. Once my eyes adjusted, I saw the torch holders and the empty crates. Scattered tools and a worn bench gave me my answer. My knees buckled. “We’re in the mines, beneath the colony.”
Events from the past two days flashed before my eyes. I’d hurt innocent males, destroyed colony property, lied to those I called friends, all for nothing. I was right back where I’d started from, with no salt, no escape and no hope. I turned slowly. “Why did you bring me down here?”
“I’m not going to hurt you, Isabeau.” His sigh sounded tired. “God knows someone ought to knock some sense into you, but it’s not going to be me. I’ll leave that up to Emma.” He gripped my arms and shoved me toward the bench. “Who is your accomplice? Who put you up to this?”
I landed with a thump but lurched to my feet the second I gained my balance. “N-no one.”
Eversworn: Daughters of Askara, Book 3 Page 8
