Chapter 3
Killian
Killian blinked. He was lying on a table in an unfamiliar room with no recollection of how he’d gotten there.
His body ached, like he’d been run over by a carriage.
And a beautiful woman with hair the color of a rose was staring down at him, her full lips curled in a theatrical smile.
Stranger still was the distinct feeling that she had just kissed him.
His lips held the ghost of a memory, a tingling he might have been imagining.
“Welcome back,” the woman purred. There was something ethereal about her—her skin was too pale, her gray eyes too knowing.
Killian furrowed his brows. Before he could speak, the woman turned away.
Her cloak flowed behind her as she strode toward the door and laid a hand on the knob.
It was then that Killian noticed Elyse was there as well.
Relief flooded him. She was safe, thank the gods.
And beside her—was that Mr. Grayson? Elyse’s old customer?
The stranger looked over her shoulder at them. “It’s been a pleasure,” she crooned before she opened the door and disappeared into the blackest night Killian had ever seen.
What in Hell’s seven circles?
The fog in his brain was visceral. He wracked his memories, searching for a morsel of insight. He remembered Ymaritis, how he had manipulated time in order to capture them. He remembered sinking into the dirt, telling Elyse goodbye. Jaime beside him, buried up to his neck in earth.
Where was Jaime? Killian didn’t see him in the dark room. Not that he cared much—the most important person in his life was there.
He shifted his gaze to Elyse, expecting a bewildered half-smile to match his own. What he found instead was a blank expression. Through the light of a few candles, he could see tear tracks had cut through the dirt on her face. But no tears filled her eyes now. Only a harrowing darkness.
“Elyse?” Killian asked. His confusion deepened as he realized that something was definitively off.
He wanted to go to her, but the goose pimples spreading along his skin felt like a warning.
Mr. Grayson stood unnervingly still except for his eyes, which darted back and forth between Killian and Elyse.
“It worked,” Elyse said. Cold. Distant. A mere statement. Her gaze lingered on Killian, and he had to keep from cringing at it. She looked at him assessingly, and he had the distinct feeling that he was not measuring up.
“The old man can catch you up.” She sounded bored, which couldn’t have been further from how Killian felt. Then she marched to the door. Without a word—no goodbye, no explanation, not even a backwards glance—she crossed the threshold and slammed the door shut behind her.
Killian stared at the door, waiting for her to return. Waiting for something, he didn’t know what. Finally, he shifted toward Mr. Grayson.
The old man’s hands wrung together as he watched Killian, who sat, baffled, on top of the table.
Mr. Grayson sighed as he pulled out the only chair and fell into it. “There is much to explain.”