“I dropped it when you jerked me off the horse.”
She expected him to ask her why she needed it or berate her for the delay, but instead his fingers tightened viselike around her wrist and he dragged her to where the horse had stood. As he bent to retrieve something she couldn’t see—her stone, she assumed—she realized it made sense he wouldn’t ask.
Someone had brought her worry stone to her at great risk to himself. That same someone who had wrapped her in a coat when she’d been chilled. That someone had to have been Isaiah. Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she wished she had that coat now.
“Did you find it?”
A grunt was her answer. As he stood, she held out her hand. Without hesitation he put it on her palm.
She closed her fingers around it. “Thank you.”
He didn’t say anything. Maybe she heard an expulsion of breath that could have been another grunt and an answer. She wasn’t sure.
Just as abruptly as he’d dragged her to where the horse stood, he dragged her into the woods. She stumbled along behind him, tripping over every stick, expecting to eat the dirt. But every time she tripped, he was there, as if anticipating her moves, knowing ahead of time what was going to happen. It had to be that, because nobody could move that fast that consistently.
They kept walking long past the time she had expected them to stop. Long past when she expected him to reveal a horse hidden away for the getaway. He had to have a horse somewhere. How else had he kept up with Billings? Fifteen minutes passed before she realized no horse was lurking in the next clearing.
“Where are we going?”
No answer, just that steady pull on her hand. Beyond the trees it was getting lighter, but where they were going it was darker and eerie. He was taking her into the forest instead of out.
The terrain changed, turning from level to steep. They were going up. She looked for their destination, but all she could see was trees. Nothing but trees. After a half hour her muscles were screaming, her lungs were laboring, and she’d had enough.
“Stop.”
A tug on her arm was the only response.
“How much farther?”
Isaiah looked up at the trees. Very little sunlight filtered through. “Half a day.”
Any notion she could hold out collapsed under the weight of that reality. Adelaide stopped arguing and simply sat down.
That at least brought him to an immediate stop.
And that just might have been a growl that escaped his lips. And that growl just might have been directed at her. She was too damn tired to care.
“Get up.” The order was accompanied by a tug.
“No.”
She could see the whiteness of his teeth. If that had been a growl before, he was working up to a snarl now. She wished she had the energy to worry about it.
“If you want me to go any farther, you’re going to have to drag me.” To her horror, Isaiah appeared to be contemplating it.
He let go of her hand. Apparently, a woman who had to be dragged up a mountain was too much of an escape risk.
“You really can’t walk?”
He didn’t have to sound so shocked. A woman didn’t have the stamina of a man. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t die right here on the spot.”
He looked alarmed. At least she thought that flicker in his eyes was alarm.
She waved her hand and lay back among the weeds, not even caring what might be crawling in them, getting in her hair. “Feel free to go on without me.”
She took her worry stone out of her pocket.
He looked at her hand, at her position. “You’re lying in the dirt.”
“I’m dying in the dirt.” He could at least get it right.
“You don’t like to be dirty.”
“I’m not enjoying the death, either.”
“You’re not dying.”
“Fine. I’m not dying. Just wishing I were. Now go away and leave me in peace.”
“You don’t know where you are.”
Did the man not have any sense of humor? “I’m not with those outlaws. So the way I figure it, anywhere I am has got to be better.”
He cocked his eyebrow at her and there was that hint of a smile again. Or maybe he was growling. The man was very hard to read. “You would think.”
“I know I am supposed to be scared by whatever it is you’re implying.” She put her hand to her chest, as if to keep her heart from pounding out through sheer force of will. A little theatrics never hurt a woman’s cause. “Well, I’m too tired to care what it is, so if you’re trying to threaten me, you’re going to have to be more direct.”
He paused.
Dear God, she thought he was actually considering it. She held up her hands, staving off whatever truth he felt she had to know that was worse than being with the outlaws. “Never mind. I’m not ready to hear anything.”
He squatted beside her, before reaching out slowly, as if he expected her to flinch away.
She met his gaze. Again there was that sense of sadness, torment, and intelligence.
His fingers reached their destination. Hair strands shifted, as did the energy between them. It seemed to fill the air like the approach of a summer storm. She pulled her hair away. He left his hand where it was, staring at his fingers and then back at her before closing them slowly.
“Blade’s right. You’re trouble.”
“Now, I like that.” She pushed herself up on her elbows. “I get stolen from my house in the middle of my evening tea, get dragged halfway across the territory, get beaten, abused, freeze my butt off—”
“I gave you my coat.”
“Yes, well, do you see it with me now?”
He looked oddly guilty. “We were in a hurry.”
Oh, for God’s sake. She understood that. Couldn’t the man just let her rant in peace? “And now I am in the middle of God knows where, surrounded by God knows what, with a man whose grasp of conversation seems to be limited to grunts, snarls, and five-word sentences. Excuse me if I’m not feeling charitable.”
5
ASK ME IF I CARE.
Ten minutes later, some suicidal part of him wanted to ask that very thing. Some residual fragment of humanity also wanted to ask her why she trusted him to the point she obviously did. The trust was in the way she sparred with him. It was in the way she took his hand when he offered to help her to her feet. He wanted to ask her why. And when she finished explaining why, he wanted to ask her how. After all the things that had happened to her in her short life, how could she still trust a stranger? How could she trust him? How, when she truly hadn’t been able to get up and he’d offered to carry her, she could quip a sarcastic comment but then hold up her arms and let him?
He wanted the answer to that as much as he wanted to understand why carrying her offered him such pleasure. He was tired, she wasn’t a lightweight, but he found carrying her provided him with a sense of connection he couldn’t ever remember feeling before. He’d been alone before he’d been taken to the darkness at the age of thirteen. He knew that. He didn’t know how he remembered that, but he knew it. He’d been alone for every second afterward. He ducked under a tree limb and glanced down at the woman in his arms. But now, he wasn’t alone. Now he was responsible for another life. At least for as long as it took for him to get her home. Shit, if he had any sense at all, he’d drop her straight in the dirt.
Since the first time he’d seen Adelaide, Isaiah had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He’d felt connected. Connecting with anything was bad. It created a weakness that could be exploited. That’s what he’d been told. That’s what he’d seen. It was one of the hard-core lessons he’d learned from the time
They
’d imprisoned him that carried over into his actual life. Or at least the life he was trying to build.
The qualification put a hesitation in his conviction. He was trying to build a life. One that contained more than cold detachment and ruthless pursuit of a goal. He experimented with that connection again. And again he experienced that flicker of light through the darkness. The faint seep of warmth into the frigid ice of his soul. He shook his head. If that wasn’t the craziest notion he’d ever heard. Whatever soul a Reaper might have once had had long since been sacrificed to the life he’d been forced into.
The rage rose as it always did when he thought of
Them
. Faceless entities that had haunted his life in the form of voices. Voices that ordered torture, killed hope. Voices that demanded the murder of men, women, children with no more concern than they ordered delivery of breakfast. Voices that had finally had faces on the day the Reapers had risen up and extracted justice. He’d thought
They
were demons, but when he’d looked upon
Them, They
had just been men. Nothing more. Nothing less. And
They
’d controlled him. His beast snarled and gnashed its teeth. Never again.
Shit, had he growled aloud? A quick check revealed Adelaide slept on. He shook his head again. She was a fool to trust him the way she did, exhausted or not. The beast wanted her. The beast craved her, and the beast always got what it wanted. All that stood between her and the beast was the man in him that needed her. There was no winning that kind of war, but if he could keep it to small manageable battles, they’d be fine. At least that was the hope.
Adelaide turned her cheek into his chest. He imagined he could feel the heat of her breath against his skin through his shirt. It fed his sense of humanity. No. He shifted her up in his arms. He wouldn’t be smart and drop her into the dirt. He wouldn’t abandon her. He’d protect her. The way any man protected what was good. It was a step toward the future he wanted. One with a purpose.
Isaiah carried Adelaide the last two miles up the mountain toward the lean-to that served as his home. He’d built it under the ledge overhanging the narrow path ringing the cliff. The sun crested the adjacent mountain range, sending stray beams of light to play across Adelaide’s face. His glance trailed the flow of light over her features, following the curve of her cheekbone, tracing the straight small jut of her nose, lingering on the dusting of gold on her lashes. Her skin was a fine, pale cream. Her mouth petal pink. The next step brought him farther into a beam of light. It blended into her hair before exploding outward in a brilliant, shining, multicolored halo.
He couldn’t look away. The shine blended with the visions in his mind, expanding faster than he could control. He stopped moving, seeing nothing but that light, not daring to move until reality returned. Light and dark battled for supremacy in his mind. Voices behind the light surged forward. Old, new, he couldn’t tell.
There’s no point in fighting.
They
had said that. The echo of his own “no” rang in his ears. It had still had power then. There’d been a lot of fight in him then. But then he hadn’t understood
Their
power. The weapons
They
would use. The changes
They
would create within him. Changes he still didn’t understand, but they ruled his life with feral intensity.
We will win. Their
promise echoed in his head.
No.
His response echoed louder.
The anger rose along with the beast. The battle still waged. After five years, a winner had yet to be determined. The beast, always stronger than
Them
, than him, battled the light, pushing it back, leaving Isaiah with only the weight of the darkness to carry. He could manage that as long as he stayed in the present.
Reality came back in a blink. Ahead of him there was nothing but blue skies, clouds, and mountain peaks. Beneath his feet there was a portion of ledge, and then . . . nothing for a mile down. He took a breath. And then another. Waiting to see if perception would distort before attempting to move. The weight of the woman in his arms increased tenfold as he realized how close he’d come to killing them both. He’d have to be more careful. It wouldn’t matter if his life came to an end, but she was good, and the vow his kind had made when they had left their creators and struck out on their own was that they would preserve good. He didn’t have much to hold on to in this world. But he had that vow. And now he had her. Two things to fight for, rather than one. His life was picking up. If he could just keep the distortions at bay.
It would be easer if being near Adelaide didn’t create the turmoil. And if he could have stayed away from her, he would have started long ago. He didn’t like the distortions. He didn’t like to be thrown into the past. He didn’t like the weakness she created within him, the need. But despite all the negatives, he couldn’t keep away any more than he could keep from sliding his finger along her arm. Couldn’t keep from leaning down that scant inch necessary to breathe her scent. To breathe her.
She was like the drug they’d forced into his veins to keep him in line. Horribly addictive in the peace it offered. And like that drug, Adelaide had the power to change everything he knew. His claws extended in response to the threat of that. He looked at their ivory length, resting against her dress, and pulled them back.