CHAPTER 37
Bristol fell onto a table and heard the tear of fabric and the crash of glass.
Before she could scream, the room went dark and icy.
She gasped for air that wasn’t there, and then there was another slam—this time harder, into a rough wall that scraped her skin.
She sucked in a deep breath, struggling to get her bearings.
Musty air filled her lungs. Her arm throbbed.
A body pressed close, pinning her against the wall behind her, strong hands clamped around her wrists.
A voice split the air. “Where is he?”
The voice was lightning shooting through her. “Get off me, you ass!” she shouted.
His hands clamped tighter, her burning wrists feeling like they might snap. “Where is he?” he demanded again, pressing harder against her, pain shooting through her shoulder.
She already recognized the voice, but as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw Mick’s angry face looming in front of hers.
“Get off me,” she repeated through clenched teeth.
He eased his grip on her wrists, but his hips still pinned her to the wall. “If you answer me, I will.”
“Are you stalking me? What’s wrong with you? Every time I come to the city, you pounce on me?”
“I’m here more often than you think. This city was once ruled by my ancestors. I have friends here.”
With a slight tilt of his head, he made the shadows roll back, and a candle on a table sparked to life.
Dim light slithered across the room. Timbers crossed the dark ceiling above her, and darker rugs covered the floor.
She felt a cold draft but couldn’t see any windows or even a door.
It was sparsely furnished, with only a small table and a bed—an enclosed basement that only someone able to nightjump could reach. Mick was her only way back out.
“Friends? Or do you mean spies who keep you abreast of interesting visitors like me?”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“Where is who?” she asked, but she knew, of course, who he was burning to find. What was important was staying a step ahead of him.
“My prisoner, Cael. Don’t lie to me. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
Not if she was good at it. And she was. All lies were about making them true. Owning them. Making the stakes your own.
“Sweet fuck, Mick. You’ve got to be kidding me. You’ve lost him?”
He eased his grip on her wrists, and she yanked free. “He escaped.”
“Escaped? How? To where?”
“I don’t know. A guard found his cell empty. That’s why I’m here. This is the first place he would run.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “If he’s out in the wilds, he’s dead.
Tyghan’s made it clear how helpless his brother is.
If he finds out you lost him . . .” She blew out an angry breath, like this was the biggest botched deal she had ever heard of.
“How did you screw this up, Mick? It’s simple.
You kidnap a king. You give him back. Easy.
Cael’s the only thing keeping Tyghan’s anger in check.
If he finds out his brother has become wolf food—”
“Why would you care?”
“Because I don’t want to be caught in the middle of a major testosterone blowup between you two idiots. I have plans of my own. I’ve got one last lead to follow next week in Bogshollow before I go home. An ogre is meeting me there. Only five days before I’m out of here for good! I made a promise—”
Mick suddenly leaned close to her, breathing in deep, pressing her shoulder back to the wall. “I smell magic on you.” It was an accusation.
She pivoted without missing a beat. “Of course you do. I’ve been here for way too long. I’ve learned a few things. I can almost levitate an apple across a room now. If only I could master invisibility, I could manage to stay out of your annoying hands.”
“Levitation? That’s all?”
“What do you expect from me, Mick? Summoning your gods? I’m afraid apples are the best I can do. I’m a fucking mortal who would rather be home delivering pizzas, but instead, I’m stuck here, searching for my father.”
Mick sighed, his finger slowly tracing a line up her arm. “Same old Bristol. You’ll never listen, will you? Trénallis is leading you on. I already told you, your father’s dead.”
Her eyes welled—for the theater.
She paused—for the timing.
But her throat swelled all on its own, the real ache taking her by surprise.
The worry for her father never went away.
She looked down, trying to shake the feeling.
“Stop. Please don’t tell me one more time that my father is dead.
I promised my sisters I’d bring him back, and I’m still empty-handed. ”
He lifted her chin with the crook of a finger. “You’re chasing a ghost, Bristol. Take them home a trinket instead. A shiny bauble. They’ll forget him soon enough.”
He reached up and brushed his thumb along her lashes, and the puddles in her eyes tumbled down her cheeks.
She didn’t know what was a game and what was real anymore.
He leaned in, brushing her cheekbone with his lips.
Her heart slowed. Sound and movement became muffled, like she was being pulled into a cocoon.
The tension in her muscles drained away.
Something was happening. Something that—
“I want you to know,” he whispered, “that I didn’t use you when I was in Bowskeep. I went there to find out what my enemies were up to, because they’re always up to something. I cared about you. I truly did.”
No, she thought, no. But his words were soothing, and he sounded sincere, like he had so many times when they met after hours at Sal’s, holding her, rubbing her back like he could rub everything that ached inside her away, mending all that was broken, kissing her like she was the center of the universe.
During those two weeks in Bowskeep, he had showered her with his golden words, and she had thought they had something together.
But there had always been a niggle in her gut, warning her that something was off.
But his touch, his kisses, they were the balm that silenced the niggle, at least for a while.
She felt that same balm spreading through her now, telling her to give in to it.
Let it heal the pain. Let him heal the pain.
“Can I kiss you, Bristol? Just once more, for old times’ sake?” he asked, his lips hovering closer.
She pushed back against the feeling. “Why, Mick? So you can prove your kisses are better than his? So you can make me believe that you really care about me?”
“Both of those things, and so I can show you how sorry I am for leaving without a goodbye. You deserved that much. A kiss goodbye, that’s all . . .”
Before she could refuse, he brought his lips to hers, and those weeks in Bowskeep flooded back to her, the stolen moments they shared, the fear that was drowned out, the inexplicable balance she felt, like she wasn’t going to fall off the edge of the world anymore.
Mick’s cocoon, that was what she was being pulled into.
But she didn’t want to be there. She wanted to push him away.
Except the worry was melting away. His tongue circled hers, and the heat inside her said yes, but the distant warning—
A part of her remembering, a voice trying to break through a surface she couldn’t see.
“Doesn’t this place remind you of Sal’s storeroom?” he whispered. “But instead of a couch, here we have a bed.” His hand slid up her side, brushing her breast. “Once more for old times’—”
No. A steady faraway beat trying to rise.
Not this. Not ever.
She shoved him away. “No, Mick! Nothing ever for old times’ sake!
You take care of your business, and I’ll take care of mine.
But never touch me again! Do you understand?
I don’t need your sick brand of magic swaying me, or your false promises.
My will is my own, and you will not bend it, not ever again. ”
A confident grin tipped the corner of his mouth. “I’m offended, Bristol. You underestimate me.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her to him, and her world went dark again.