Chapter 26 #3
Maybe we won't... The dream of it ached, bitter and sharp, for that was all it was.
A dream. He shook his head, turning away from her.
"This is different. This threatens you all.
" His boot heels rang out on the marble tiles, but not hers.
She wasn't following him. It ached, like a fist around his heart, but better that it end this way.
He wouldn't forgive himself if it ended with Ianthe hurt.
"I love you!"
Shock welled up through him. His feet wouldn't move, but his head turned, drawn inexorably toward her. "What?" The words felt like they were torn from him.
And there she was, standing at the end of the hallway, with her fists clenched and her pulse pounding in her throat.
Stubborn, passionate Ianthe, with her heart on her sleeve.
He could shatter it, for it was as fragile as glass, and then she'd let him go, and she'd be safe.
.. But his own chest ached with longing.
Something there would break along with hers.
Ianthe's expression turned stubborn. "I love you, you fool, and I will not let you go. I will not release you from this bond! If you won't fight with me, then I will fight for you. You need me." Her voice cracked. "And I need you."
"I can't." This was the only thing he couldn't fight against. For how long had he ached to hear those words?
"You don't know that," she shot back, taking a step toward him.
"This is a knee-jerk reaction because you're scared, and I understand that.
" Stepping closer now, she reached up to cup his cheek.
"Don't throw away everything we have, because of fear.
We don't know that the demon can overtake you.
It's been a year, Lucien. Why hasn't it tried?
What is it waiting for? Don't you think it would have taken its shot while you were starved and tormented in Bedlam?
Weak? And now you have me, and I am not going to share you with some creature from a hell dimension. "
He turned his face away, but she didn't back down. Cupping his face in both hands, she forced him to meet her gaze. "I love you, you fool. And it scares the hell out of me, but I believe that together we can face just about anything this world can throw at us."
"Ianthe—"
Reaching up, she slid his arms around his neck. That warm body pressed against his, her cheek brushing against his jaw. He was smothered in a cloud of lilac perfume. Drenched in her heat and her touch, he had the feeling that he was no longer alone in this.
"We will do whatever needs to be done," she whispered as his arms hesitantly curled around her waist. "Of all of us, Drake knows the most about Greater Demons and their reach.
He can look into whether this has ever happened before, but for now, you are safe.
It cannot reach you, or touch you here, and if it does, then I'm your Anchor. I won't let it drag you under."
How insane, to think that but a few days ago they'd been at war. Lucien shut his eyes and buried his face in her hair. "You're a fool," he whispered gruffly. "You should be running from me and this bond. I–I will release you—"
"I don't wish it, and neither do you, if you would only stop and be honest with yourself for once."
Lucien buried his face in her hair and squeezed her tight, because, if he was being honest with himself, he did want her. And Louisa. Forever.
"Of course, you do," she retorted, and for some insane reason, he couldn't stop himself from laughing.
"You're insane," he rasped.
"Trust me. We can defeat this."
Lucien caught her face in his hands and drew her mouth up to his in a punishing kiss. Brave, stubborn Ianthe. What would he do without her?
"You have something to say," Ianthe said, pouring herself a cup of tea and trying to stop her hands from shaking after that little revelation.
Lucien had just left to arm himself, and they needed to get moving, but she could feel Drake watching her.
"Spit it out. Do you think I'm wrong to hold him to our bond? "
"No." Drake leaned back in his chair, looking tired. "I think you're possibly the only thing that could hold him together through this."
She took a mouthful of tepid tea and frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
"Demons cannot force a human to do anything; it has something to do with that inner strength of will that shields us at our very core.
We naturally resist intrusions to our very sense of self.
So they toy with emotions, Ianthe. Fear, loneliness, and lack of hope all give the creature a path to slowly chisel away at.
Once a man gives up hope, he hasn't the means to fight the creature, but Lucien's feelings for you are powerful. That gives him strength."
"Will it be enough?" she whispered.
"I don't know."
Ianthe set the cup down. Silence weighed heavy in the room. "You do know that I'm sorry." And now she wasn't speaking about Lucien.
"There is nothing to forgive."
"I gave them the Blade, Drake! It could bring you down, and you know it, and—"
A hand pressed gently over hers. "There is nothing to forgive," he repeated in a quiet, firm voice and squeezed her fingers.
Tears sprang into her eyes, her throat thickening. "You have always been too good to me."
"Your greatest problem, Ianthe, is the fact that you don't believe yourself worthy of kindness. You are more than worthy. In fact, you should demand it. Sometimes I should like to take your father by the throat and beat him bloody for what he's done to you."
"He's not my father," she whispered, feeling it for the first time in her veins. "You are. You always have been. If you'll have me."
With a choked sound, Drake drew her into his arms and kissed the top of her forehead. "I could not be prouder to call myself thus."
Ianthe rested her forehead against his shoulder.
All her life she'd felt like she was an abomination.
No matter what she did, she was always wrong, and the guilt of all of her choices had been a silent condemnation of her own making.
It was Grant Martin's voice that she heard in her head still, telling her she had lost the blade and cost poor Eleanor whatever torment she was suffering at the moment.
She could listen to Grant Martin's voice forever, if she let herself, but it was Drake's words, Drake's love for her that pushed her to see that to do so would only be a lie. She was tired of lies. She was tired of guilt.
She deserved better for herself.
"I will help you get Eleanor back." A weight had lifted from her shoulders.
Purpose descended, cool, crystal, and decisive.
"I promise you we will get both her and the Blade back.
Then we shall make Morgana rue the day she stepped foot in our lives.
But first," she said, standing and brushing the wrinkles from her skirts, "I must make sure my daughter is well, and then I will check on my Shield. "
Drake's lips curled in a faint smile. "That's the first time you've called her that." He was happy for her, despite his own problems. "It's about time you realized you are the best thing that ever happened to Louisa. Now go and be her mother."
"I will," she promised, looking him directly in the eye, "on one condition."
"Oh?"
"The next time you look your stubborn son in the eye, you need to promise that you'll set aside your own sense of guilt too."