21. Maelstrom
MAELSTROM
LEV
B lakely was missing.
Lev sped down the cobblestone path on horseback. He’d dispatched the others to search every inch of Lichenmoor, but he doubted they’d find him. Asher’s personal effects were missing too.
Not to mention, Lev’s reaction would have sent anyone away, let alone the precious gift of a man who worshipped him to the point of tattooing his art on his skin. This was all Lev’s fault.
Why hadn’t he camped outside of Asher’s door when he saw his eye peering through the keyhole? Why hadn’t he dropped to his knees and whispered apologies into Medusa’s mouth? He’d been such a coward, but his earlier fear was nothing compared to the terror he now felt.
What if Asher had strayed off the path? What if he’d been injured? What if he’d already drowned? He kicked his heels into Rebecca’s sides, nudging her into a canter, the fastest he dared coax her on slippery sloped cobblestone.
Shifting the reins into one hand, he shielded his mouth with the other and called, “Blakely! ”
“He may have made it to the other side,” Silas said, wrapping his weightless arms tighter around Lev’s waist.
Lev didn’t reply. Nothing would console him until he found Asher and tucked him safely inside Lichenmoor’s walls again.
“Asher!” Lev bellowed so loud his voice cracked.
A gust of wind ripped Lev’s hood back.
He couldn’t see fuck-all and it was getting dark. Between the storm and the sea and the wind howling over the moor, he wouldn’t even be able to hear Asher if he answered. How was he going to find him?
Clenching his legs tighter, he kicked his heels into Rebecca’s sides, urging his steadfast mare faster, planning to race to the bottom and work their way back up. He’d had five long years to ruminate over how he would have saved Father if he’d been home.
“Careful, Levvy. You’ll be of no help if Rebecca is injured. Or you fall off.”
Of course, he knew that, but if help arrived too late, Asher would be gone. He had no choice but to trust Rebecca to be his guardrail. She was as brave as she was stubborn, incredibly agile, and possessed a near-supernatural level of intuition that had saved his arse more than once.
The path leveled out and widened, and Rebecca broke into a gallop. Lev bent down and hid behind her draft.
“We have to find him, Si.”
“We will.”
But Lev’s hope withered as he scanned the dense fog fruitlessly. “Asher!”
What if he never found him at all? What if the ocean claimed him and didn’t let go? Lev couldn’t lose another soul to the sea again. He’d rather walk into the waves than return empty-handed.
He felt the vibration of Rebecca’s whinny more than he heard it, the only warning to hold on before his stomach lurched and his vision tipped up. He clung to the reins and latched onto Rebecca’s mane as she reared back on two legs.
His girl didn’t spook. If given free rein, she’d have charged through the maelstrom until she decided she was done. Rebecca fell onto her front hooves and paced backward, ears tilted forward between anxious tosses of her head.
“Good lass,” Lev murmured, stroking her neck. “What have you found?”
He freed his boots from the stirrups and followed her gaze to a shadow in the middle of the road. Not a shadow—Asher! But what was he doing on the ground?
His heart stalled. No, it was happening again, wasn’t it? Lichenmoor doomed its captives to an eternity of walking circles in the fog. Time on Lichenmoor was a snake eating its tail, an ouroboros in reverse, a serpentine curse.
Lev launched from his saddle, straight into a deep puddle, splashing water to his thighs, and ran toward Asher.
The worst moments of his life flickered in and out of focus like a light bulb going bad—Silas limp in his arms, shaking him, slapping him, blowing air into his lungs, pummeling his chest, forcing blood through his veins, begging his heart to wake up, and then the worst moment of all, the realization that he wasn’t sobbing into the crook of Silas’s lolling neck, but the hollow shell that had once housed his soul.
The fuzzy edges of Asher’s shadow sharpened as he neared. Asher wasn’t crumpled in a heap. He was sitting slumped forward, curled in on himself, knees hugged to his chest, head bowed against the elements. The belt around Lev’s chest loosened a single rivet. People didn’t die sitting up, did they?
He dropped to Asher’s side, ignoring the harsh bite of stone against his kneecaps, and shrugged out of his raincoat. The poor lad hadn’t dressed for the elements, wearing that raggedy, paint-stained hoodie he favored and black Converse like he’d just popped out for a stroll.
“Asher?” Lev touched his shoulder .
Asher’s head jerked up.
Dizzying relief washed over Lev. “There you are.” He draped his raincoat around Asher’s shoulders and curled over Asher’s face, shielding him from the rain as he palmed his cheek. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Asher stiffened and pulled back, leaving Lev empty-handed.
“Good.” Lev cleared his throat. He’d been so afraid of losing Asher, he’d forgotten that he already had. “I was so worried?—”
“I’m sure. My body washing up on your shore would be quite the legal quagmire.”
“Blakely, that’s not…” He massaged the space between his brows, a headache already forming. “I was afraid for you.”
Even in the rain and gloom of cloud-covered daylight, Lev saw the subtle roll of Asher’s eyes. He darted a glance back to ensure Rebecca still waited. Silas had left.
“You’re sure you’re alright?” Lev asked.
“Yes, Dad.”
Lev’s eye twitched. He didn’t like that. Not one bit. “What on earth were you doing sitting in the middle of the road?”
“I tripped in one of your many potholes.” A wave swept over Asher’s lower half, interrupting his rant, and drawing an adorable growl from his chest.
“Easy there, lad.” Lev offered his hand.
Asher’s lips pinched into a scowl before begrudgingly taking it. He was ice-cold. Was he hypothermic? How long had he been sitting in wet clothes?
“Come, we can discuss my potholes on the way back to Lichenmoor. Can you stand?”
“Of course I can.” Asher pulled his hand free and braced shaking palms on the stone, moving at a glacial speed.
Lev hovered, waffling over whether he should avoid pissing Asher off further or throw him over his shoulder. The last wave had receded, but it would return.
“Blakely, if I may—” Lev extended his hand again .
“I’ve got it.” Asher batted him away.
Lev stood and cast a nervous glance toward the opaque veil of fog where the ocean surely lurked.
“Time is of the essence.”
Asher attempted to stand, making it halfway before a wave knocked him back on his arse and swallowed his legs.
“That’s enough of that.” Lev looped his arm under Asher’s shoulder and hoisted him to his feet.
Asher listed to the side.
“Asher!” Lev lurched forward and grabbed hold of his waist. “Are you hurt?”
Asher tensed like an alley cat forced into a hug. “No. I stood up too fast.”
Lev wasn’t convinced. Ignoring the impulse to hug Asher until his warmth seeped into him, he stabilized the lad with a hand on his hip and roved his other hand through Asher’s hair.
“Hey, what are you—” Asher tried to pull away.
“Checking for head wounds.”
“I don’t have any.” Asher stepped out of Lev’s grip.
“I’m not finished.” Lev looped his fingers through the belt loop of Asher’s jeans, jerking him back, sensitive fingertips searching every inch of his scalp and down his neck for a knot or the warm, sticky oil-slick of fresh blood. Nothing.
Exhaling, he scanned the rest of the lad, and looked around the frothy shallows surrounding their feet. “Where are your things?”
Asher’s scowl tightened into a grimace. “I had to ditch my bag.”
Lev’s stomach sank below sea level. He didn’t want to think about how narrowly Asher had avoided death. If he had been any later…
“I’m so sorry.” Without thinking, Lev reached out and stroked the bruise on Asher’s neck with his thumb, reassuring himself that Asher was real, that he hadn’t been dragged out to sea with his belongings. “Things can be replaced. You, however, cannot.”
“Spare me the sentimental bullshit. Just because you saved me from dying at the hand of your own shitty groundskeeping doesn’t mean I want some fatherly affection.”
Lev dropped his hand. Well, then. If Asher had enough energy to be an obnoxious little twat, he couldn’t have suffered much harm.
Asher stalked off toward Rebecca, adding over his shoulder, “If you call me pretty American again, I’m going to punch you.”
“Oh, the horror. How shall I ever recover from such an injury?” Lev called, hurrying after him.
Lev’s next footstep dropped into a deep hole. Perhaps Blakely had a point.
By the time he caught up, Asher had already charmed Rebecca, whispering something unheard while he stroked her neck.
“Nice horse. What’s her name?”
“Rebecca. Let me help you.”
Instead of some snarky jab, Asher stepped into the stirrup, and vaulted up. Lev nearly had a heart attack, only soothed when Asher landed on the saddle, and extended his hand. “Finally caught up, old man?”
“I wasn’t entirely sure you wouldn’t leave me.” Lev took Asher’s hand and followed suit, settling himself in the saddle’s seat with Asher in front. “If you don’t mind…” Lev reached around Asher’s waist and took the reins. He’d been expecting Asher to fight him for the reins, but he didn’t protest.
Overwhelmed by the miracle of Asher in his arms, Lev perched his chin on Asher’s shoulder, and eased Rebecca into a trot. Nothing had changed. He’d still have to send the lad away. What happened tonight only hardened his resolve.
But at least for now Asher was safe.