Across The Divide (19 page)

I responded with the same intensity, emotion, and passion.

It was a goodbye to the fantasy.

“Ryker.” A hand stirred my shoulder, arousing me from a deep sleep. “Wake up.”

It was a woman.

Amara.

The sound of her voice instinctually sent a growl vibrating in my throat.

“Stop that. Anger at me can wait. We don’t have much time.” She tapped insistently at my shoulder. “Come on. Get up.”

I groaned, trying to lift my lids, to look into her face. I was on the ground. The stone unyielding under my curled form. 
When did they release me? How long did I hang? How long was I out?
All these questions rolled around my head but never made it out of my mouth.

“Ryker, sit up.” Amara pulled at my arm, her eyes wide and full of anxiety. “We have to go. Now.”

“What?” I blinked. I only wanted to continue sleeping. Being unconscious was the only time pain didn’t consume me.

“Come on.” She yanked at my bicep, causing me to groan as a sharp pain shot up my arm, curving around to my shoulders.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I snapped, tugging away from her grip.

“I’m sorry I lied about Regnus. You can be mad at me later.” She looked anxiously back at the door.

“Mad is too nice of word. What I feel about you goes
way
past that,” I snarled.

“Detest me later then. Right now we need to go,” she shot back, desperation laced in her tone.

Ignoring the agony I reached around, clutching her chin between my fingers, jerking her to me. She inhaled sharply.

“I. Want. To. Kill. You,” I seethed.

Her breath was uneven, but her eyes never left mine. The stronger she held my gaze, the more my anger evaporated. Her strength and determination was the one thing I actually respected about her. Like Zoey, she would never back down. She would do what she had to do to live. If a man did what she did, we wouldn’t think twice. It was her nature to deceive and steal. How could I really blame her for being what she is?

I dropped my hand and turned back over. “Go where?”

“I’m getting you out of here,” Amara replied.

“What?” My head whipped back to her. “Why?”

Amara ignored my question. Clasping my back, she prodded me to sit. “We have to go before those idiots come back. Please, Ryker, just do what I ask.”

“Why should I believe you are helping me? This could be a trap.” I cringed at her rough contact.

Her forehead lined, the corners of her mouth drawing down. “I know trusting me is the last thing you want to do, but please, right now, trust me. Both our lives are at stake.”

Once again, I could be a fool, but I did believe her. I saw how Vadik treated her. He would kill her without a thought. And the one thing Amara did well was save her own ass. If getting me out was helping her with that, then so be it. Both of us had the same goal—escape.

I dipped my head in a yes. She exhaled with relief and put her hands around my waist, helping me to my feet. I jerked, swallowing the wave of nausea.

“Sorry.” She loosened her hold.

I swayed and stumbled to the side.

“Here.” She got her body under my shoulder, holding some of my weight.

My overstretched muscles balked at the movement. Everything hurt. Everywhere she touched prickled with pain. I leaned against her and stepped when she did. I merely reacted to her pleas, my brain beyond muddled with pain to grasp what was happening.

“I want my axe.” In the condition I was in, I
needed
it. And in all honesty, the weapon was such a part of me, more than my own arm, I couldn’t fathom leaving her behind. Weapons in the fae world were alive. Had personalities. They grew attached to their owners as much as the owners relied on them. She was strong and fierce. We had been together for a long, long time. I would not leave her.

Amara scanned the horizon as we stepped from the cell. “They locked it up down the hall.”

The guards who had been at my door day and night were gone from their posts. “Where?” I nodded at the empty positions.

“Men are easy.” Amara spoke evenly but her eyes darted around with high alertness. “They each think they’re getting a blow job in the laundry room.”

I smirked. Simple but effective.

She directed us down the corridor to another bolted door. “It took three of Vadik’s musclemen to carry it even this far.” She smirked.

“Key?”

She lifted her eyebrows, pulling a keyring from her pocket and holding it up. “You doubt?”

“No.” I knew her too well to have reservations. Amara always obtained what she needed.

She went through the string of metal keys, trying each one on the door, while I stood watch. It would have been nice to jump in and out of here. I missed my magic. A gap in my chest and soul waited longingly for the power to return.

“Hurry,” I demanded, coercing her to glare over her shoulder at me. It took several keys, but finally the lock clanked over, reverberating off the walls.

I sucked in a breath, the door hinges screeching. She slipped in, and I followed.

My chest swelled. There she was, locked in a cage. My battle-axe. It was as if she were calling me; my feet moved obediently to her.

Amara had the lock open before I even reached the box. I reached over, my fingers wrapping around the handle. My lids closed as I felt her greet me, her power and excitement were like electric shocks into my skin.

“I missed you too.” I picked the axe up, the harness still attached to her. As I slipped it on, reinstating her on my back, a loud noise banged from down the hallway, like a door slamming.

In sync, both Amara and I swung for the door. We had been in too many close calls together for the need to talk.

I hobbled after her to the stairs. There was only one way in and out of the dungeon. I lifted my foot to step on the first stair and clapped my jaw together. Every nerve throbbed, followed by a pulse of nausea. Bile clogged my throat. I wanted to puke and then pass out. Or the other way around.

“Hurry,” Amara hissed in my ear.

“I’m trying,” I responded through gritted teeth.

Another door slammed somewhere upstairs, and Amara halted, listening.

“Go. Go. Go.” She hurried us up the stairs, her fear bleeding into me. I pushed through the sharp agony and commanded my feet to move faster. We reached the top of the stairs, and she poked her head out into the dark corridor.

“Okay.” She waved me forward. We both stepped out into the hallway. Suddenly it was no longer pretend. I was only steps away from freedom. I had no idea what was outside the front door. I knew Vadik would have it heavily guarded, but the possibility of freedom spiced my tongue and cleared my head.

Amara grabbed my hand, lowered herself into the shadows, and pulled me down the hallway. Her attention was forward, mine behind us. The silence made anxiety thrum through me like the banging of war drums.

She took me along another corridor, my legs still trying to find a rhythm. She stopped and pressed her back into the wall. “All the exits have alarms and guards,” she whispered.

“You had a plan for this, right?” My shoulder bumped into hers. The pressure against my wounds slammed my jaw together.

She shot me a look over her shoulder. “Yes. But you’re not going to like it.”

“Do I usually like your plans?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” I snorted.

“Right now I’m all you got.”

“That only makes me more nervous. What are you up to, Amara?”

“Wow, I can’t actually want to get you out of here because I care about you?”

I tilted my head.

“Fuck you, Ryker.” She shook her head and turned away from me, taking apprehensive steps down the hall. I followed behind.

We entered a large formal living room, and I stopped dead in my tracks. Sofas and chairs faced the giant fireplace and another set stood by French doors topped with arched Palladian windows, which overlooked a backyard. In the middle of the lawn was a lit fountain, giving the outdoors an eerie glow. The lake beyond was lost in the sea of night.

What stopped me wasn’t the ostentatious gardens and fountains in the backyard, the expensive furniture, or the garish displays of collected artifacts, sculptures, and relics. It was the singular painting. The only one in the room.

The painting depicted a woman.

I stared at the gorgeous woman portrayed in oils hanging above the fireplace. My heart fluttered in my chest with a feeling I couldn’t decipher. A recognition. A distant memory.

The woman in the portrait was beautiful. Golden hair was braided and twisted in intricate designs hanging over her shoulder to her hips. She wore a long tunic dress, the same color as her hair, tied at her waist with decorative interwoven ropes of deep gold, red, and blues. The details along the trim and sleeves were lined with white. It looked to be from the eleventh or twelfth century. She wore a small jeweled headband. Her slight smile glinted her eyes with happiness and mischief, as if she held a fun secret you wanted to learn.

I was drawn to her eyes. I sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes were so pale blue they almost looked white.

My throat constricted, and I struggled to swallow. Memories flashed through my head, more feelings than images, but those eyes smiling down on me rang strong in my soul. Then like a boulder, recollection barreled into my mind, hunching my shoulders. Seeing her flicked a switch in my brain I had kept off for so long—a long and forgotten memory buried deep in my soul.

I wake up lying in the middle of a huge four-poster bed, knowing the rich dark wood it is crafted from was hauled out of the nearby forest. Every day I escape to the security of their branches to either hide or play.

Elaborate tapestries hang over the cold stone walls, keeping in the heat. It’s early in the year, but the air smells of spring. Buskerud flowers bloom around the window, their sweet scent hanging in the air. The dawn lets in a soft glow of the breaking sun.

This is my home. My room.

A beautiful woman walks to the bed, peering at me.

My mother.

“Good morning, my love,” she coos softly. “You are three years old today, my sweet boy.” Her long golden tresses reflect the light and halo the jeweled band around her head. The ends of her hair tickle my face as she bends over me. “I love you so much.” Her white-blue eyes water. She brushes away the tear hinting at the bottom of her lashes and shakes her head. “Can’t let him see emotion,” she mumbles to herself. Her fingers touch my chest. “Whatever happens, my love, know you are loved. No matter what, you will be free of him. I promise you. This is my gift to you. Both of us soon will be free.” Her voice grows barely audible.

I don’t know what she’s talking about, but her melancholy creates a deep sadness in me. Reaching up, I touch her face. “No cry, Mamma.”

Her fingers grasp my little ones, and she brings them to her lips, kissing them softly. “For you I will do anything.”

Her words should have made me feel better, but they didn’t.

“You’re going to be strong for me today, right? You are my little man now. You must be strong for Mamma.”