Midnight Enchantment (21 page)

After kicking the front door in, he carried Elizabeth inside and set her on the couch.

Breaking into one of the upstairs bedrooms, he found a stash of clothing and selected a cashmere sweater, then returned to Elizabeth and slipped it over her head.

She roused, pushing at him, and he calmed her. “Where are we?” she murmured, looking down at the new sweater.

“Seems like every time we meet, you’re naked,” he grumbled under his breath. “Let me worry about where we are. Relax. You’re safe.”

She peered up into his face. “You look like hell.”

“So do you, baby. Rest now.”

A faint smile flickered over her lips. “You do know how to flatter a girl.” She fell back against the cushions and closed her eyes. Dark circles marked the flesh beneath them.

He stood back and studied her. She looked close to gone. He’d figured that charmed iron against the skin of a nature fae would do its work faster and had built that into the illusion he’d woven for her, but he’d never expected the process to be
this
fast. By the looks of the weight she’d lost and the color of her skin, he’d gotten her out of there just in time.

While she slept, he cleaned and dressed the wound on his back as best he could, hid the SUV, built a fire in every available fireplace in the cabin to heat the place, and figured out what they’d do for food while she recovered. Luckily the place was stocked with canned goods.

He just hoped no one would find them before he had enough juice for a concealment spell. He wouldn’t be able to put one in place for at least twelve hours.

Elizabeth slept way past that amount of time. He bundled her in blankets where she lay on the couch and checked every few hours to see if she was breathing.

Other than that the brief flicker of life she’d shown when
they first arrived, she did a really good impression of a dead person. Niall had never dealt with anyone who’d been so thoroughly dosed with charmed iron. To him it looked like a coma, or a really deep sleep that allowed her body to repair itself.

He found himself sitting near her, studying her night and day, worried not only about the hidden pieces of the
bosca fadbh
, but about the woman, herself. She was a bright light in the world. Stubborn and misguided, to be sure, but also intelligent, incredibly strong, and very protective.

She was like no one he’d ever met—and he’d lived a long time. Unique, complex, fascinating, she intrigued him on a level that went far past her physical allure. Niall had to admit he was attracted to her, but on a deeper level than he’d ever been attracted to a woman before.

For the first time in his three hundred and eighty two years, Niall felt the bite of true fear.

Finally, around forty-eight hours after he’d carried her into the cabin, she began to stir. He put down the book he’d been thumbing listlessly through and sat forward, watching her. She parted cracked, pale lips and her eyelids fluttered.

“Elizabeth…Elizabeth,” he singsonged. “Are you in there?”

She groaned and opened her eyes a crack. Taking one look at him, she grimaced, and closed her eyes again. He’d try not to take that personally.

After fetching a glass of water, he set it to her mouth and dribbled a little between her lips. She groaned again, grabbed the glass with surprising strength, and tried to gulp it empty.

“Hey, easy,” he said, wresting control from her. “A little at a time or it will all come back up.” He eased the glass away from her.

She blinked and focused on his face. “What happened?”

He set the glass on the table and slumped in the chair. “You mean other than you almost dying? This time for real?”

Weakly, she pushed up and propped herself among the pillows. “I’m aware of that particular fact. I meant the rest of it. How did I get here, with you?” Her words came halting and raspy from an abused throat.

He told her the whole story, then steepled his fingers and grinned. “I saved your cute butt.”

She set the water glass onto the coffee table. She was looking better by the minute, but she wouldn’t be dancing around anytime soon…or dissolving into water self, probably. “Maybe, but you also let Gideon Amberdoyal get away.”

“Way to be grateful, Elizabeth.”

“I
am
grateful. Thank you for saving my butt, Niall. You’re my hero.”

“
Cute
butt.”

She closed her eyes. “If you say so.”

“Am I your hero? Are you thinking about ways you can repay me?”

She cracked one eyelid and glared at him. “You’re not getting the pieces.”

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I wasn’t thinking about the pieces.”

“I’m sure you weren’t.” She swung her feet around to the floor and swayed a little. “I need a shower, and my stomach is trying to digest itself. I’m getting way too used to that sensation. After that, you and I have things to discuss.”

His grin faded.
Priss.

Slowly she pushed to her feet and walked unsteadily toward the back of the house.

“I laid out fresh clothes for you on the bed. I’ll make you something to eat.”

At the entrance to the master bedroom, she stopped and half turned toward him. “I really am thankful you got me out of there. I thought I was going to die for real that time.”

“I did, too.” He paused. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Me, too.”

EVERY part of her body ached. It felt a little like the time she’d caught the flu. The fae didn’t get sick very often, so she remembered it.

Gathering up the clothes Niall had set out for her, she moved carefully into the bathroom and ran the water in the shower. She’d never been so hungry in all her life. She was so hungry she was nauseous, so hungry she was repulsed by the idea of eating.

Clean first, then food—a small amount of food.

She washed her hair twice and scrubbed her skin until it was shiny and pink, as if trying to get the touch of Gideon Amberdoyal off her. Then she dressed in the jeans and soft sweater Niall had laid out for her. When she returned to the kitchen, she felt better, maybe even a little stronger, and saw that he’d made toast and eggs for her.

“While you were sleeping off the iron sickness, I made a visit to the nature fae around here. They provided us with some fresh food.”

She sat down and studied her plate. The mix of ravenousness and illness warred in her stomach. Picking up her fork, she tested a little of the egg. She swooned. It was the best thing she’d ever put in her mouth. Her body demanded more.

Soon she was shoveling the food in and Niall had to slow her down. Finally she leaned back in the chair, the small amount of bread and eggs making her stomach ridiculously full. Ah, that was so much better.

Now it was time for business. “So, what did Priss say?” she asked.

Niall sighed and sank into an opposite chair. “There’s no way to save your mother, Elizabeth.”

Disappointment sank like a boulder in her chest. She’d really been hoping for some good news. That was the problem with hope. The higher the hope, the harder the disappointment. She drew a breath and looked away from him. “That’s too bad.”

“It is. I’m sorry. I’d wanted better news to bring to you.”

“That means we’re still bitter enemies.”

“I’m having a hard time feeling bitter toward you.”

She looked at him, trying to read his expression. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “You don’t have me locked in some blasted illusion in my head right now, do you?”

He locked gazes with her. “I swear on my mother, I don’t.”

“You never had a mother.”

“It’s a figure of speech.”

“Niall.”

He leaned forward. “You can tell I don’t. Can’t you feel it? You should be able to sense the difference, since you’ve experienced the illusion before. Reality is more real than my mind fuck can ever be.”

She considered him before speaking, sensing her environment. “I can feel it, and I think you’re telling the truth.”

He leaned back in his chair and spread his hands. “Good, because I am.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she asked, “Where do we go from here?”

“You rest, get better. I’m assuming you can’t dissolve yet.”

She rubbed the center of her chest with her palm. “The iron sickness has sapped my magick.” It felt like a hole had opened up inside her because of it, too. She eyed him suspiciously. “After I get better, then what?”

“I don’t know. You may not feel like a bitter enemy to me, but we’re still on opposite sides of this thing.”

“Yes, so…why help me?”

“I told you already.” He met her eyes. “I like you.”

Trying to take his measure and sort her feelings for him, she studied his face. She was physically attracted to him, that fact was undeniable. There was more there, too. A flicker of something deeper. An appreciation for his protectiveness and desire to do the right thing, for his wit, even for that stupid cocky grin she wanted to knock off his face half the time.

“Elizabeth?”

She blinked, coming back to herself. Oh, crap. This was not a good thing.

Pushing to her feet, she swayed a little, catching herself on the edge of the chair just as Niall reached out to steady her. She pushed his hand away. “I’m going to lie down for a while. I assume there’s some kind of hidey, no-one-can-find-us spell on this place.”

He nodded. “Rest easy. Get well so we can go back to chasing each other around like Tom and Jerry.”

She gave an uneasy laugh. “Sure.”

But she had a feeling they were doing another kind of chasing at the moment.

LIAM reached out, his soot-streaked hand skimming through a pile of dead leaves. He grasped the dry, rough root of a tree and used it for leverage. He flipped to his back, and a coughing fit immediately assailed him, making him double over on
the ground. A short distance away the house he’d dragged himself out of still smoldered.

Damn Gideon and his fucking hive magick. It destroyed everything it touched.

Rolling onto his back again, he stared up at the lightening sky and dragged smoke-tinged air into his burning lungs. He’d only barely escaped with his life after meeting that fucking fae, Niall Quinn. Worse, now the bastard knew what he looked like, knew his name, and he needed to go back to the Black Tower to risk himself again. Gideon had left him for dead, so it was his only move.

He closed his eyes, wheezing. Outside these walls was his small family of free fae. Good ones, bad ones. They’d all joined together, coming from far and wide, most of the fae who’d somehow managed to escape the Great Sweep and the descendants of those fae.

Danu, he missed them right now.

He’d been there the day his wife had committed the sin of murder. It had been in the early days of Piefferburg, and he and Aideen had been running from a small group of Phaendir in Ireland that had been set on capturing them and loading them onto a ship bound for the newly formed fae imprisonment area in the colonies.

They’d sought shelter at a friend’s house, only to discover that the friend, Declan, had taken money from the Phaendir to turn in fae. He and Aideen had only just figured out why Declan had been acting strangely before the Phaendir had burst through the front door of the cottage. They’d fought their way free, and Aideen had stabbed Declan right before they’d fled into the woods.

She hadn’t needed to do it. It hadn’t been in self-defense. The killing had come from a place of utter rage and betrayal. Aideen had been livid that Declan had informed on them and had wanted him dead. Simple as that. Liam was certain Aideen’s action would be considered cold-blooded murder in the eyes of the Wild Hunt.

Maybe it had been wrong, but how could he allow her to spend forever in the sluagh for what she’d done? It wasn’t fair that these fae should spend a lifetime in Piefferburg, but it
wasn’t fair his wife should be damned for eternity for what she’d done, either.

And now, here he was, feeling as big a betrayer as Declan.

Liam pushed up and pressed a palm to the center of his chest, coughing. He needed to get his arse moving. No way was he letting Gideon have those fecking pieces. He’d acted like he didn’t care in front of the woman, Elizabeth, but he did care. He had no intention of letting the Phaendir go near the book or the
bosca fadbh
; he’d just figured the best way to prevent Gideon from getting them was to stay close.

Looked like that plan was fecked all to hell. Who knew where Gideon was by now? Not mourning Liam’s loss, that was for sure.

GIDEON lifted his foot out of a glop of muck that made a sucking sound and took his shoe.

After clenching his jaw for a long moment, he let loose with a string of malicious curses screamed into the fucking faery treetops.

All the sprae in the area, keeping their distance from him anyway, disappeared with little winks. The Labrai-cursed Boundary Lands were covered in snow, yet he’d managed to find the one swampy section in the whole forest.

He glanced around, beginning to think the very trees and bushes were out to get him. In a fae forest, that possibility couldn’t be dismissed. He was, after all, their enemy.

Turning, he fished his shoe out of the mud with freezing fingers, all the while glancing anxiously around him. Then he straightened and strode forward, limping with only one shoe on. He was the archdirector of the Phaendir with powerful hive magick burning in his head. He could explode anything that threatened him.

He was just glad his men couldn’t see him like this. They were holed up in Piefferburg City, giving him a steady stream of Phaendir hive magic, and he was out here, freezing, covered in soot and mud.

He’d actually had to flee
nature
fae. Fucking
tree
faeries. Birch ladies in their wispy white dresses.

This was the fault of the U.S. government and their frightened, weak-willed morality against allowing him to storm the gates of Piefferburg
the moment
they’d learned the fae had the book and the
bosca fadbh
. This was
their
fault.

Back when they’d first created Piefferburg, the Phaendir had assumed the New World would be the perfect place. Free of laws, wide open in terms of space. And, in the beginning, it
had
been perfect. Early America had been nicely free from conscience. In fact, if it hadn’t been for their powerful magick, the fae would have been enslaved just as the Africans had been.