35. Collision
ELOISE
The lights grow closer until they’re right in front of us, and that”s when we both realize what we are actually seeing. The growl of a distant engine meets my ears, and the lights pass behind the trees bordering the graveyard, disappearing to my left.
“I think that was....” Maeve hesitates. “From the house, I bet?—”
“It was a truck driving down the access road between us and the Anderson place,” I say softly, my voice shaky with my trembling and hollow from my disappointment. “Grams wasn”t seeing fairies. She saw cars. Someone must be staying in the old farmhouse again.”
“I thought that place was condemned.”
“It was. Maybe someone bought it to fix it up.” I stare in the direction the truck has gone. And just like that, all the emotions of the day come rushing in at once. I choke on a sob, falling to my knees on the cold dirt. “It isn”t real,” I cry. “Oh my God, she waited for him, and it isn”t real. Nothing is real!”
Maeve places a hand on my shoulder, but I can”t take comfort in it. All the magic has been drained from the world, and every bit of relief I”ve taken from religion, platitudes, and my grandmother”s personal beliefs has been stripped away, replaced with only one reality. She is gone, forever. A body in a cold box in the ground. I am alone. So alone, even with Maeve right beside me. The last Harcourt.
My grief is a living, voracious worm, eating my innards one bite at a time. All I can feel is pain and the emptiness it leaves in its wake.
Warm arms wrap around me —long enough it feels as though they could circle me twice, and I’m hauled against a broad chest that’s definitely not Maeve”s.
“No one called you, Advocate,” Maeve hisses. “Why are you here?”
“Currently, it appears I”m saving a grieving granddaughter from hypothermia. Why are you here, Maeve? To watch her catch pneumonia?”
“You came back.” I sob, nestling into his chest. He lifts me as if I weigh nothing and strides toward the house with me cradled like a child in his arms.
“I”m taking you inside.” Warmth from his body permeates my own, and I can hear his strange heartbeat, a steady thump-thump against my cheek. The smell of him eases me. I release a sigh.
“Thank you,” I say softly. For coming back. For carrying me. For keeping me safe. I don”t say those things out loud, but he must understand because he presses a kiss to my temple. I allow myself to drift to sleep, the trails of my tears drying on my face.
DAMIEN
Eloise feels far too vulnerable in my arms. Far too delicate. I need to warm her. Feed her. Guard her. I should have never left her side.
“Advocate, I’m speaking to you!” Maeve snaps from behind me. At least she’s attempting to keep her voice down. Fuck, I don’t need a Gowdie witch riding my ass at the moment. Not when I need to care for my mate.
I grit my teeth at the word. Despite my best efforts, I’ve bound myself to this little dragon, already thinking of her as mine. I want to deny it. But here I am. With no candle to blame, I felt her torment through the darkness and hastened to her side. I am free. I could leave. But I am here solely because I want to be. Solely because I love this tiny force of a woman in my arms and can’t bear to leave her in her grief.
Which means I am already hers.
Once we’re inside the foyer of Harcourt Manor, I cast daggers at Maeve over my shoulder. “Later. Let me put her to bed. She’s not well.”
The witch winces as if the thought disgusts her but nods once. “Fine. I’ll be in the kitchen. Come talk to me when you’ve… put her to bed.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, I carry Eloise to her bedroom, then carefully set her on her feet. She yawns and rubs her eyes. “I think I fell asleep.”
“You passed out. Have you eaten anything today? You’re shivering.” I shuffle her into the bathroom and start the water.
“No, but I’m not hungry. Damien, my Grams, she’s...” Her voice cracks.
“I know.” I start undressing her, slipping her dark wool coat off her shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re freezing. You need to warm up. A shower will help.” The black dress she wears hangs on her like a sack and makes her skin look sallow. She’s lost weight these last few weeks. She isn’t eating enough.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re two seconds away from carting me off to the emergency room.”
I stroke her hair back, studying the graceful lines and angles of her face. “I owe you my freedom. The least I can do is look out for you on the day you lose your grandmother. Let me take care of you, Eloise. Do it my way, just this once.”
A tear slips from the corner of her eye, and I wipe it away. “You know I can’t say no to you when you use my actual name.” The corner of her mouth turns up, and my heart swells. Does she realize the power she has over me?
“Do you want me to help you?” I jerk my head toward the shower.
Her eyes grow heated. “Sure.”
I slice my chin to the left. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Why not?”
I cup her chin and bare my fangs. “There is nothing I’d like more than to be inside you right now, little dragon, but not like this. Not when you’re so distracted with grief you can’t think straight. I am a male of honor. You’re grieving. You need rest and to eat. I will not take what you don’t have to give.”
She slides her hands up my chest. Gently I take her wrists and press her palms together inside my own. “Shower, Eloise,” I say again, and this time it’s a command. “There’s something I have to do. I’ll be back to watch over you soon.”
Her face changes, growing suspicious. “What?”
“Maeve is downstairs. She wants to… talk.”
“I should—” She moves for the door, but I stop her.
“Please.” I place a kiss on her forehead. “Get ready for bed. I will return to you.”
This time she nods, although I can see the conversation isn’t over. My little dragon will not give up so easily, which means I have only a few minutes to deal with the witch downstairs. I back through the door, meld into the shadows in the corner of the room, and manifest in the kitchen across the table from the Gowdie witch.
Maeve glares at me over a cup of something steaming and dark, the only sound that of the shower running above us on the second floor. When she speaks, she gets straight to the point. “Why are you here, Advocate? You’ve served your purpose and met the terms of your agreement with Eloise. She did not light the candle to call you again.”
“No. She didn’t light the candle, but anyone could have heard her cries. Why did you allow her on her knees in the cold and dark? Why didn’t you care for her?”
Her cup clanks onto her saucer. “I don’t have to answer to you.”
I unbutton the top button of my shirt and pull it aside to reveal the space over my heart, now free of the Gowdie tattoo. “Nor I to you.”
Terror flashes through her expression, and she darts up and around the back of her chair, ready to bolt. Her hands fly up in what I can only assume is the start of a defensive spell. I snatch them out of the air and hold them in my grip, bringing my face close to hers.
“Please. If I meant to kill you, the table would be a minor inconvenience. And I would have done so before you knew I was free from the candle’s hold.”
Her eyes grow wide. “How did you do it?”
“The candle burned out,” I say simply. After all, wasn’t that the promise she and her ancestors had always made me?
Her jaw clenches. “What exactly happened to the candle, Advocate?”
I extend my fangs in a growl. “My name is Damien Hymir, prince of the Kingdom of Stygarde, and I am no advocate of yours, Maeve Gowdie. The only reason your life isn’t in danger is Eloise. She loves you, and I won’t give her one more thing to grieve tonight. I’d prefer we move forward civilly.”
Her expression softens, but not with empathy. It’s pity I see in those dark depths that serve as eyes. “You love her.”
“My feelings for her are none of your concern.” Roughly, I release her wrists and back against the yellow counter, studying the spider plant that hangs from a crocheted sling beside the sink.
“None of my concern? I can practically smell the mating scent coming off you. You’ve had her blood, multiple times I bet. You’re not a vampire, but you’re enough like one for me to draw some conclusions. You’ve bound yourself to her.”
I rejoice in my ability not to answer her. I don’t owe the witch an explanation.
“You’re playing with fire.” She shakes her head, her words coming through gritted teeth. “You’ve known about the tattoo from the beginning. If there’s any vestige of magic in her blood?—”
I narrow my eyes. “Wasn’t it you who led me to believe she was human?”
“As far as I know, she is,” Maeve snaps defensively. “But then who destroyed the candle? And don’t give me any bullshit about it burning down. You and I both know it was enchanted so the flame could never reach the end of its wick.”
The creak of floorboards draws our attention to the hallway. Eloise stands there, dressed in nothing but her pink bathrobe, hair soaking wet. I’ve been so wrapped up in this thing with Maeve, I didn’t hear the water shut off. I can feel her presence now, though. Her grip on the doorframe and the tension in her jaw communicate only one thing—FURY.