Betrayal Foretold: Descended of Dragons, Book 3 (3 page)

E
wan searched
the small space of the cabin for something to do. As he paced, he ran his hand along the cabin’s wooden mantle, inspecting trinkets that had found their way to prominence over the years. “Want me to make a fire?”

I shook my head. “Too warm out.”

Ewan and I were alone. Timbra and Boone had left for The Root. I busied myself doing laundry in the kitchen sink. Oh, how I missed modern conveniences. I’d always heard it said how fragrant, how fresh, sun-dried clothes and bedding were. Ha. Scratchy and stiff—no thank you. Give me fabric softener and an electric dryer any day.

“How about I make dinner?” Ewan cooed as he joined me in the kitchen.

“You can cook?”

He nodded.

“Can you cook
well
?” I asked dubiously.

His eyes fell shut when he laughed, but seemed steeled with determination when they opened again.

He was suddenly behind me.
Too close. Can’t breathe.
He used one hand to push the mess of my hair aside, exposing my neck. The other arm he snaked around my hips to pull me tight against him. I stood motionless, frozen with my hands still immersed in warm, soapy water. Ewan nipped the side of my neck before planting a wide, slow kiss over it, and heat shot both to my face and down to my toes. The warmth of his mouth, his arm possessively around me, the water at my fingertips, all combined to send my temperature skyrocketing. Sweat beaded at my temples and trickled down my hairline.

As suddenly as he had approached, Ewan released me, reaching for a cast iron skillet hung above the sink. I held my position, recovering, attempting to slow my pant-like breaths.

He was at home in a kitchen, and gathered eggs, cinnamon, sugar, and a loaf of bread from the counter.

“What are you doing?” I laughed, drying my hands with a nearby dishtowel.

“Making brinner.”

“Br…what?”

“Breakfast for dinner. Brinner. You’ll love this.”

I hopped onto the counter, a rapt observer as he moved deftly through the small space. He soaked the bread in an egg mixture made with sugar and cinnamon before dropping the slices into a pan of hot butter.

“Where I come from we call this French toast,” I said.

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, but his attention never left the food.

“Mmm.” My mouth began to water. Probably the melting butter.

“And do you like French toast?” Ewan asked, finally turning to me. His eyes met mine briefly, before they snagged on my lips.

“Very much,” I said, watching him, and not really talking about the food anymore.

“French toast is a silly name for it,” he said, pulling me from my little trance.

“Why?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure people were making
Pan Dulcis
long before France was a country.”

“I don’t believe that. How could you know that?”

“No idea where I picked that up,” he said with a shrug.

“And how do you know so much about my world?”

“We study it in school. Your history, your culture.”

“Really?” I asked. “Why? Thayer’s so different, so…enchanted. What could you possibly hope to learn?”

“Did you study other cultures, ancient civilizations in high school?” I nodded in answer to his question. “It’s like that. Because your world has no magic, your people have become masters of invention, of innovation, of industry. A lot of Thayerians love to travel there. Your rich history, your varying cultures…Disney World. It’s fascinating.” He smiled and leaned in to rub his nose along mine. “You’re fascinating.” I melted, just like the buttery mixture he’d created. “And whatever you call this culinary masterpiece, it’s ready to eat.”

Famished, and thrilled to consume the meal Ewan had prepared for us, my fork sunk into the puffy bread. In my mouth, the cinnamon, butter, and caramelized sugar combined to send my taste buds into saccharine bliss.

“OhmyGod,” I said, my mouth full and my brain fuzzy with pleasure. “Sogood.”

Ewan said nothing. His smile was confident, masculine as he took his own bite.

* * *

“
W
hat would
you like to do now?” I asked after we’d cleared the kitchen of brinner dishes.

The silence between us was as thick as the tension, a living thing that wound around my throat and made it difficult to breathe. What now, indeed? I had some ideas. The heat behind his gaze told me he did, too.

Can’t. Not yet
. “Gin!” I blurted.

Ewan tilted his head to the side. His lips gathered as he contemplated my meaning and then smoothed into a knowing, goofy grin. “I’ll see what’s in the liquor cabinet. Trying to get me drunk before you take advantage of me, are ya?”

“No.” I shook my head in genuine denial. “Gin rummy. It’s a card game. Ever played?”

“Noooo,” he said slowly, “but I’m teachable. Cards it is.” Ewan squinted again. Maybe he was attempting to get a read on my mood.
Good luck with that.
I searched a rickety buffet for a deck of cards.
Even I don’t know what I want
.

‘Teachable’ turned out to be the understatement of the year. Once I’d explained the rules, Ewan Bristol proceeded to systematically whip my ass.

“Beginner’s luck,” I teased and shuffled the deck of cards utilized so many times the edges were soft, the deck pliable as leather as I feathered it through my hands.

“Lucky? Definitely.” When I looked up, Ewan held my gaze and relayed his fervent interest…and not in the next hand of cards. Flames shot to my cheeks as his eyes shamelessly roamed my body. He didn’t hide his curiosity—or his intentions. “I’m finished playing cards,” he said, and rose from the kitchen table.

“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Okay.”

“I have something else in mind,” he said and eased onto the sofa with confidence. “Come here.” He patted the spot near him on the sofa. His gaze on my lips betrayed his next move.

Shit, shit, shit.

A strained pressure built behind my eyes as I racked my brain for a way out of what he had in mind. It was dangerous for me to make out with Ewan Bristol. Always had been. Something about him made me forget my worries, my fears, and my plans. Each time I placed my trust in Ewan, placed my lips on his lips, my body near his body--everything else was lost. There was only Ewan and Stella. Dark and light. Danger and fear. Confidence and bravado.

If we started this thing, there was no stopping it. Not this time. I didn’t have the willpower. No, I didn’t have the
desire
to stop. He was exactly who and what I wanted.

Already a part of me was questioning why there should be any problem with this course of action.
Why fight this?
It’s right. You know it’s right.
Since the first moment I brushed against Ewan in class, when I feared he’d devour me whole, I knew there was something special about him. The chemistry between us had always been enough to decimate us both.

Devour me whole! Decimate me!
I shook my head to clear it.
That’s it. That’s the reason. I can’t lose myself over a man. Not right now. Not again. Not after I lost my head so easily with Gresham.
I had to move slowly. Ewan was much too much, and too soon. I had learned from my mistakes and vowed not to rush in again.

Ewan sensed my unease. Moments before, his face had said ‘smolder,’ but now that look was replaced with concern, and the beginning stirrings of rejection. “What are you thinking, Stell? Talk to me.”

A comfortable position eluded me. I shuffled my hands from my hips to cross over my chest, and then to my lap. Finally, I let them my arms fall to my sides in defeat, and attempted to explain my hesitancy.

“
C
ome out
, come out, wherever you are,” trilled a cloying, mocking voice. “I know you’re in there, Stonewall. I can hear your vile little heartbeat.”

My gaze shot to Ewan’s, who was as shocked as I was to hear someone outside—especially her. So much for my explanation.

“I can hear him, too,” the voice called, sending frightened chills down my spine. “I knew you worked fast, but this gives a whole new meaning to harlot.”

“Harlot”,” I mouthed with a snarl.

Ewan’s body had gone rail straight, his face a mask of fear and rage. I was already afraid, but witnessing his reaction exacerbated my own to near hysteria.

Caught. I was caught. Dean Livia Miles had discovered my hideout and trapped me inside. Frozen with fear, I sat motionless at the kitchen table and attempted to reason my next move, some way out of there.

I’d stashed an old rifle I’d found under Bay’s bed in the front closet. Should I run for the gun? Should I just trace the hell out of here and think later?
Yes!

I reached for Ewan’s hand and thought “home” with urgency. Nothing happened—not even the beginning cold blasts of air associated with tracing. I tried again, imagining the green front door of my mother’s house and the overflowing planters that lined the porch. Nothing.

I threw my hands up, desperate to escape. “You try,” I whispered.

The crease between Ewan’s eyebrows grew deep with concentration. He shook his head. “Can’t trace.”

With a last look at him, I threw myself to the ground, scuttling to the window for a view of what we were up against. Years’ worth of dust invaded my nasal cavity as I peeked past the windowsill through the glazed pane.

It was dark out, and the crescent moon provided little luminance. But Dean Miles wasn’t alone, and her cohorts had brought flashlights and lanterns. She stood in the small clearing outside the cabin surrounded by at least thirty people—most of whom I had never seen before. All of whom looked murderous. I watched in horror as the mob grew—one, two, sometimes three at a time.

How had they found me? Who were they? Didn’t matter—they were here. And more arrived with each passing minute. I’d be lucky if they didn’t lynch me.

That’s exactly what the crowd resembled: a lynch mob. The flickering orange fire of their lanterns illuminated angry, disgusted faces. One or two pointed and jeered at the cabin. Others whispered and nodded. The mob was out for blood and growing restless.

Dean Miles stood pert and powerful, completely in control as she consulted with several people surrounding her. I recognized the polyester-clad largess of Vice Chancellor Edgecliffe, and then spotted two arms gesturing in jerky movements behind her meaty rump. Professor Lochlain was making his opinion known. What Aemon Lochlain lacked in stature, he more than made up for in force of presence and intellect, and I hoped he would influence the committee on my behalf. But I wasn’t counting on it. Dean Miles was mean as a snake, and just as slippery.

Not far away stood six or eight uniformed Thayerian officials. The silver metal accents of their slate-colored uniforms gleamed conspicuously in the forested darkness. They clasped their hands behind them; their feet spread shoulder-width apart. They weren’t guarding anything, but seemed to be stoically awaiting orders.

Oh, God!
I dropped to the floor as Rowan Gresham left his position at the guards’ flank.
Of course he’s here. Of course! With guards. What’s he gonna do? Arrest me?

I rose up again, but only far enough to see over the windowsill. Gresham made his way to Dean Miles and loomed over her with authority. When he looked toward the cabin, his radiant, golden eyes caught the light of a lantern, giving them a haunting glow. The darkness did little to conceal her contempt for him, and she snarled something in reply. Gresham’s shoulders bunched, and for the briefest moment, I thought he would throttle her. His effort to calm himself was evident and he loosed his hands at his sides, shaking the tension from them. He said something else and her lip rose in a hate-filled jeer before her mouth opened in obvious defiance.

“Stella Stonewall,” she called out with authority, “you—”

“Stella, may I come in?” Gresham’s deep voice cut off Dean Miles’s next words. Her head snapped back belligerently, but she said nothing else.

“Hell no,” I called out before even considering my answer.

Gresham’s whole body heaved with the force of his irritated sigh. “Stella, you’ve been formally charged with several counts, including malicious mischief, breach of peace, reckless fire-raising, concealment…” Gresham closed his eyes wearily as he said the last, “and culpable homicide.”

“What?” I squealed and looked to Ewan, who was vibrating with restrained emotion. He didn’t speak, but his gaze bored into mine with those dark eyes.

What is he thinking? I
was thinking I wished there was a way out of the cabin. Out of Livia’s grasp and away from the murderous mob.

“Stella, you must come in for questioning to address these very serious charges,” Gresham went on.

I groaned helplessly and searched the cabin, racking my brain for my next move, but inspiration failed.

Dean Miles and some of the angrier members of the mob had begun to stir. The more time passed the more agitated—and numbered—the crowd grew.
Surely these people have something better to do than hunt down harmless girls over a misunderstanding.

“Come out, Stonewall,” she said angrily. “Or we’re coming in for you.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Livia,” Gresham growled. “You’ve filed the charges. You’ve mercilessly led the way. The rest is up to me—to the Defense Department and law enforcement.”

Dean Miles laughed wickedly. “Oh, there’s no way I’m leaving this solely in your hands, Rowan. Not after watching you hound her like she was in heat.” Sleek dark hair caught moonlight when she shook her head. “No. As a citizen, as a leader of Thayer, I’ll ensure justice is done. And one way or another, you can bet I’ll see that fire starter fry.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood one by one like pious parishioners in the presence of their pastor. Before I could turn to discover what had caused my visceral, bone-deep reaction, his voice slithered through the cabin.

“You’re in a pickle now, aren’t you, sugar?”

Nauseous. I was instantly nauseous from the sound of his voice. It was caramelized venom. Smooth as steel, and just as deadly. I knew without turning Brandubh loomed behind me.

A small noise from where Ewan had been standing jerked my gaze in his direction.

“Ewan! Oh, God! Ewan!”

I covered my mouth to stop the scream. Ewan was plastered against the wall—forced against the cabin’s wooden planks as if a giant vacuum sucked at him from the other side. Like he was experiencing G-force en route to space. His lips pulled back to his ears, his eyes wide, his hands and legs restrained against the wall. I opened my mind to him, to determine if he could speak to me, but only picked up a crazed static.

“
Ewan
?” I said. “
Ewan, are you okay? I’ll get us out of this
.”

Either he didn’t hear my silent communication or he was unable to respond. He sent nothing back, only stared wildly ahead.

“What did you do to him?” I half-screamed at Brandubh.

“I only immobilized him. For now. Certainly, worse is possible.” He took a step toward me and I scuttled back, hitting my elbow painfully on a side table. Noticing my fear, he abandoned his pursuit and looked at me benevolently, like he would a rambunctious puppy.

Brandubh’s appearance had never met my expectations of an ‘evil sorcerer.’ He wasn’t gnarled or ugly, and he didn’t sport a long white beard. He was tall and stout, and particular in his appearance. Meticulously so. His dark hair was closely shorn and silvered along the temples. Methodical, clear blue eyes shone from beneath a heavy brow, and his maniacal smile gave me cold shivers.

“How did you get in here?” I rasped. “What do you want? Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

“Want? I only want to help you out of this mess, Stella. I want to see you safe.” His saccharine smile didn’t fool me for a second. Brandubh’s evil was veiled in charm. He tried hard to hide it, but I knew it was there, right under the surface.

I grunted without grace. “Right. ’Cause you’ve never tried to kidnap me, kill me, or pimp me out.”

“I’ve never tried to kill you, Stella. You’re far too precious to me for that.”

“My mistake.” Sarcasm laced my voice, but it was only bravado to mask the fear.

He went on as if I’d said nothing. “You and I see things differently. That doesn’t make your opinion wrong. Just inaccurate.”

“This is not a difference of opinion, you whack job. You were going to enslave me and breed me to my cousins.”

“Living in the past will never take you forward, sweet one.”

I shook my head because there were no words. Why did I even try? You can’t argue with crazy.

“I’m here to help you now,” he soothed. “You need a way out of here. I have one.”

Ewan grunted from his paralyzed station on the wall, but he needn’t worry. I would never accept Brandubh’s “way out,” no matter how desperately I needed one.

“Yeah, no thanks.” I backed away from Brandubh as inconspicuously as possible. “Some other time, maybe,” I said and inched toward Ewan. “Thanks for stopping by.”

It was clear I would never willingly take his offer, and when Brandubh realized that, he went from amiable to agitated in the time it took to blink. “I offered you a choice, Stella,” he snarled. “You chose poorly. You’re coming with me, whether you like it or not.”

I threw my hands in the air. “Oh, for God’s sake. Surely, you’re not this obtuse. It’s not a ‘choice’ if you force me onto the road I didn’t take.”

The air crackled with tension, with the barely-leashed threat of violence. If skin could smoke, Brandubh’s would have been ablaze.

Ewan attempted to shut me up by moving the only thing accessible to him, his eyes, but that only made him look crazed, too.

“I gather by your silence you’ve chosen not to surrender to our investigation,” Dean Miles sneered from beyond the cabin walls.

I scrubbed my eyes. Why couldn’t everyone just leave me alone?

“Fine by me,” she called. “We’ll come to you.” The crowd erupted, wicked and angry cheers filling the space around me, exacerbating my already-frantic nerves.

I bit the cuticle of my thumb and attempted to think through my problems. But I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t escape.
No way out. Trapped. Need help. Help,
I pleaded with anyone. With no one.

Gresham’s words were lost in the crowd’s violent shuffle toward the cabin—toward me—but I caught his muffled “leave this to the authorities…” just before all hell broke loose.

Across from me, Brandubh’s fox-like grin spread until his entire face beamed evil menace, sparks of malevolence shooting from his icy glare. He had something else up his sleeve, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what.

The cabin moaned. It was too deep in tone, too encompassing to be classified a creak. It sounded like the ancient structure was being pulled up from its roots. I glanced wildly around to determine the cause. The worn wooden planks under my feet had begun to shudder. The air was heavy with the synthetic, singed smell of magic.

Ewan was still held helpless against the wall. The muscles of his jaws ground with effort. Was he using magic to free himself?

Brandubh’s chest inflated with confidence. He stood, hands in pockets, still sporting that evil, anticipatory grin.

Outside, an eerie cloud cover swept over the dark sky, and the crowd, raucous and driven to violence only moments before, hushed.

“What the hell’s going on, Brandubh?” My voice was forced, frightened.

Half of his face pulled up in a spiteful sneer. He was delighting in his secrecy, relishing in connivance.

“What’s going on?” I said louder, but my voice broke with fear.

Brandubh’s blue eyes lit with giddiness just before the walls, the roof, and the entire upright structure of the cabin broke from the floorboards, flying into the forest and splintering into a thousand shards. The explosion was so loud, the turbulence so disturbing, that I threw myself to the floor and covered my head with my hands, scrambling awkwardly toward the kitchen table. I couldn't see Ewan, and that scared me. He had been trapped against the cabin wall before it splintered into the forest. There was no sign of him, and I couldn't determine if that was reassuring or not.

I hadn’t made it half way when the breath was knocked from my lungs faster than I could gather it to scream and I was flattened and rolled beneath a massive body. I kneed my attacker, dug my heels into his sides, but he was too big, too strong, and too determined. He didn’t thwart my attack or restrain my legs, but took each blow with a heavy grunt.

When I finally broke free enough to breathe, I took a deep lungful, intent on using any strength I could gather to throw him from me. Juniper. The forest. A modest trace of cologne. “Ewan,” I sobbed and tucked into his body. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered roughly. “Stay down. And stop kicking me, for gods’ sakes.”

I closed my eyes and pressed my face into his chest. Tears stung behind my eyes. “Are you okay?” I mumbled against him. “I was so scared he had hurt you.”

No answer.

“Ewan?”

When he still didn’t answer, I lifted my head to see his face.

The angle was wrong, and I couldn’t see him. My only view was from beneath his thick shoulder, but that was enough. I blinked several times to clear the wetness that had gathered in my eyes because my sight was obviously playing tricks on me.

Without walls to prevent them, the mob converged to form a slow shuffle toward the cabin. Dean Miles led the way, and when she stepped onto the wooden planks, she raised her gaze to Brandubh’s. The look that passed between them was intimate—knowing, pleased, expectant.

Weird.
Am I the only one that caught that? They don’t know each other. Right?

I stretched to see if Ewan had spotted the curious exchange, but his gaze was fixed on the gathering mob.