29. Conor

29

CONOR

R owan was sick with grief, which meant Conor was, too. He cursed himself for ever bonding with her because he'd been cruel the first opportunity he got. It didn't matter that it was for her own good. She hurt, and Conor did, too.

He'd been so desperate to own some part of her, so feral and territorial, that he let himself get roped into it. Now it was nearly impossible to separate what he felt from what she felt.

His own grief meant he'd become much too attached. He'd forgotten himself, and if he didn't remember now, she'd be the one to suffer for it.

He was unaccustomed to such intense emotions. Centuries of life had dulled everything, the monotony turning down the volume on joy, sadness, and lust evenly. But they all tore through him like a tempest now, and it was hard to sort hers from his. His emotions seemed to shift and make room for hers, reacting and responding to each one. When she was sad, he felt guilt. When she was angry, his temper stoked to match hers. On and on it went until he felt like he was ready to crawl out of his immortal skin.

He shifted in his chair, staring into the roaring fire in the ornate fireplace in his sitting room.

"Doing all right, lad?" Charlie asked.

"Some mistakes were made," Conor gritted out. He was so lost in thought he'd forgotten Charlie was sitting next to him. Where Rowan belongs . He shoved the rogue thought to the back of his mind.

"Curious mistakes, I'd say." Charlie gave him no grace at all. He was relentless in his encouragement to lure Rowan back and apologize. "For what it's worth, I know you've lived a life that's made you accustomed to misery, but the only one who will change that is you."

Conor finally looked at the reaper. "What kind of future could we possibly have?"

"We could speculate, but there's only one real way to find out," Charlie said. "I've always been a fan of playing it safe myself. I'd certainly prefer to keep things as they are, and the easiest way to do that is for you to destroy her instead of pining for her. But I think that you deserve more happiness than you'll let yourself have. I think that girl is tougher than she looks, and I think she probably deserves the truth, as hard as that might be."

"You've certainly come full circle," Conor laughed darkly.

"Well, a week of watching you brood around the mansion is about all I can take," Charlie teased. "Think it over. She'll be here tomorrow for the weekly delivery. You've got time to decide how to handle it."

Conor held his breath as Rowan walked to the gates and knelt. Her red cloak stood out against the freshly fallen snow. He felt her fury radiating off her like heat off a summer meadow.

The souls came in a flurry of activity, but mercifully they all seemed at peace, and made a swift transition. When he was finished and the portal was sealed, he came to stand in front of Rowan. She kept her eyes averted.

"Rowan," he murmured.

She met his gaze and stole the breath from his lungs. If looks could kill, Conor would have been immediately eviscerated. She looked affronted that he dared to speak her name.

"Come in for some cider," Conor said.

Rowan laughed bitterly. "I'd rather run naked off the trail into the Dark Wood."

Conor bit back a surprised chuckle. "That's a sight I'd like to behold."

Her eyes narrowed as she climbed to her feet, ignoring his outstretched hand.

"Come inside, Rowan," he said more gently.

"Is that a command, O great Wolf?" she asked with faux reverence.

He knew that Rowan was attempting to scold him, but her viciousness only succeeded in turning him on.

"Does it need to be?" Conor asked. He felt pathetic pleading, but he'd been desperate for the sight of her. Now that she was in front of him, he didn't want her to run off so soon.

"If you want me to come in, it does," she ground out.

He considered the options. If he let her run back to Ballybrine, he wouldn't see her again for a week. The thought made him feel sick. Conor didn't think he could take another week of knowing how upset she was when he could do nothing to comfort her. He couldn't take another week of knowing he was the cause. Maybe Charlie was right, and he should just tell her everything from the beginning. Maybe he simply found her anger incredibly compelling, and he enjoyed playing with fire.

"Fine, consider it a command, little Red," he taunted. "It's only fair after I've been forced to endure your heartache all week."

Rowan blushed. "How lovely to have all of my worst hurts on display for your amusement," she rasped as she walked into the keep.

Her scent was an assault on his senses as she brushed by him. Desire pounded through him relentlessly as he followed her inside. He clenched his fists to try to tamp down what he felt.

Rowan furiously unbuttoned her cloak and tossed it on a chair, standing before him in a red wool dress. She hadn't even bothered to make herself up, though that did nothing to reduce his desire for her. Her open rebellion against her role only made her more unexpected and fascinating.

In the firelight, he could see the toll his carelessness had taken on her. Her eyes were puffy and rimmed in dark circles. Her hair was unusually messy, fastened in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. He wanted to pull it out and scatter the hairpins around the room. He wanted to messy it with his fingers while he kissed her.

Her eyes narrowed as his gaze dropped to her lips.

"I'm afraid I'm not thirsty this evening. What can I do for you?" she said coldly.

"Perhaps I should ask what I can do for you, lass. You seem tense."

Rowan looked ready to slap him. Conor met her fury with flirtation because he was uncomfortable with the weight of his affection for her. He knew he was already too far gone. Humor was the only bit of levity left in him.

"I don't see how that's your concern," Rowan sighed. She kept her gaze militantly focused on the fireplace behind him.

He took a step closer to her, and she held perfectly still. Another step, and her gaze flew to his. One more, and she stumbled back, bumping against the sitting room wall. Her anger faltered momentarily, her gaze dropping to his lips.

Conor struck like a viper. He pressed his body flush to hers and kissed her feverishly. Her anger only made his desire for her more intense, her scent more tantalizing. He wanted her so badly.

Rowan was just as swept up. She poured every bit of rage into the kiss, all while he poured in every bit of contrition and sorrow. Her fingernails dug into the nape of his neck, and he groaned.

She tensed and shoved him away, then slapped him—surprisingly hard.

"Stop playing with me, Conor," she said, blinking back tears. "I'm a person, not a toy you can wind up for your amusement."

He'd taken it too far. He'd hurt her worse. He had nothing to say. He stared at her, wondering how he'd managed to screw up so spectacularly so quickly.

"Is that all, or do you need further services?" Rowan asked. He saw the genuine worry on her face.

She actually thought he'd make her service him after rejecting her and hurting her as badly as he could. He might have behaved monstrously to protect her, but it still stung that she thought he could be that type of cruel.

"Rowan, I can explain everything?—"

"Yes or no?" she interrupted. She blinked furiously, trying to stave off tears. He wished he could hold her.

"No, I don't need anything else," he rasped.

The truth of his feelings choked him even as he was desperate to share them. Even if he hid the words with silence, it made them no less true. He was in love with Rowan Cleary. Love . Not an imitation or obsession. He felt the kind of love that stole his breath when she laughed, made him want to burn the world down when she cried—and that made him the most dangerous thing in the world to her.

Instead of saying what he really wanted, he bit his tongue to keep silent.

"Good," she said. She turned and grabbed her cloak from the chair where she'd tossed it, then stormed out of the keep without bothering to even pause and button it.

He waited a few moments before starting after her, but when he came to the gates, he found nothing but silence and her small footprints in the snow.

Charlie appeared at his shoulder. "Con, you should know. Her aura was back to normal."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"How is that possible?" Conor asked.

Charlie shrugged. "I have no idea. I only know it's true."

Conor stared down the path toward Ballybrine. He wanted to go grab Rowan and bring her back to his keep where he could be certain she was all right, but after his cruelty, that was impossible.

"I'll follow her home," Charlie said.

Conor nodded and watched the reaper tear off down the trail toward Ballybrine, leaving him alone with the soft patter of snowflakes on his now-living garden and the thought that he'd only succeeded in making things worse.

That night, Conor woke with a start. His sheets were soaked with sweat and his brother's face was fresh in his mind.

After Rowan left, he had forced himself to rest for the simple fact that it would put him out of his profound misery for an hour or two.

That was a mistake. A strange sinking feeling filled his chest, a queasiness settling in his gut.

He tried to sense Rowan. Confusion and grief and a distinct sense of foreboding turned his stomach. Something was wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He shoved out of bed and pulled on clothes, and the dread only heightened.

He stormed down the stairs and to the gates of the keep before pausing. The Dark Wood felt strange, wrong, even to him.

Charlie appeared beside him so suddenly that he jumped. "What's going on out there? It woke me up. The beasts are restless."

Conor's mind churned. "Valen took her blood, and he knows her name. If he's strong enough now, he could lure her right into the Dark Wood."

He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. Valen could nearly match Conor's strength now. When she was in Conor's bed, Rowan was safe from the pull of Valen's compulsion. But in Ballybrine, on her own, she'd be helpless. She might not even wake up in time to realize what was happening.

The two of them took off down the path.

"Can you sense him?" Conor yelled over the howling wind.

Charlie grunted confirmation, and Conor turned to follow him into the trees. The two of them moved as fast as they could, snow whipping by them, making everything blurry. The large flakes stung his eyes and made his face feel raw, but Conor didn't slow down.

Finally, he caught a stronger hint of her scent on the wind and followed. Horror sliced through him when they spotted her a moment later.

One of Valen's arms wrapped around Rowan's waist, holding her back flush to his body, while the other held her head to the side. Rivulets of blood dripped down her pale skin, soaking into the red silk of her nightgown as he feasted on her. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, her hands limp at her sides like a doll's.

Conor wanted to scream, to rip Valen limb from limb, but he also knew the vampire was hopped-up on a heavy dose of Rowan's life force, and he wasn't confident that he could take him out easily.

Valen pulled away from her neck to laugh. "Your new Red is fucking delicious. Best one yet." His mouth was stained scarlet and his eyes glowed with power.

Rowan's gaze cleared, and her fearful eyes met Conor's. She mouthed his name, reaching for him feebly.

"Not so fast, sweet thing. Don't you want to stay with me longer?" Valen taunted.

Conor recognized the compulsion magic in the air before it hit Rowan. She cocked her head to look at Valen.

"Of course," she murmured, even as blood trickled from the wound in her neck, pooling between her breasts and disappearing into the lace neckline of her nightgown. Her voice was so small Conor struggled to hear it over the wind.

"I want her back…alive," Conor barked.

"She seems perfectly happy right here. Aren't you happy, love?" Valen goaded. He whispered something in her ear that was lost in the wind. She blushed and nodded. "Tell him what you want. Tell your big, bad Wolf."

"I want Valen to suck the life out of me. Then I want him to make me one of his wives so he can keep me forever," she said dreamily.

Conor couldn't stand the vacant look in her eyes. He hated that someone was hurting her, and he could do nothing to stop it.

"You know the rules, Con," Valen laughed. "The Maiden gets to choose which god of death she serves. Perhaps it's finally time to give rise to a new one. I thought Elder Garrett would be the one to deliver her to me, but you did it yourself. You gods are so foolish. You and the way you think you can hold this power. The Mother and the way she thinks she can use me, while I used her elders to strip her of power and grow stronger. Now I will take your place, and then I will wipe the Mother off the map until this world is full of darkness."

So that's what the Mother had been up to. Conor had his suspicions, but now it was confirmed.

Charlie looked to Conor for guidance on what to do, but Valen was right. Conor had created the rule about new gods rising so he'd someday have a way out if he wanted it. Being eternal was overwhelming. It never occurred to him that he might end up in this exact predicament. He'd been the most powerful being in the Dark Wood for centuries. Now the balance of the world was in the hands of a half-conscious Maiden whom Conor was desperate to save.

He'd seen the way Valen's "wives," as he called them, were mindless husks of the women they'd been when they lived. He couldn't stomach that fate for Rowan.

"Rowan, listen to me," Conor begged. "Don't give in to him. I care about you. I lied before when I said I didn't. I should have just told you the truth. That song was for you. I've never written one for anyone else. It was exactly what I feel. I've never shared anything like that with someone before. I've never felt this before. You scare me to death."

Rowan's head rolled back against Valen's shoulder sleepily.

"You're so beautiful, so angry, so damn stubborn," Conor continued. "I need you to be strong now. I need you to fight him. I'm so sorry I made you believe I didn't care."

"Aw, did you melt the heart of the big, bad Wolf?" Valen taunted.

Rowan groaned, her head lolling to the side as she tried to focus on Conor.

"You know I care for you. I know you felt it tonight. I am afraid I have little practice sharing my feelings, but I assure you that I'm crazy about you," Conor said desperately. "Please fight. You are stronger than his magic. I know you are."

Rowan's eyes locked on his and narrowed. A crease formed between her brows as her eyes focused.

"Please, Rowan," Conor insisted. "You are the best part of my week. I hate that I hurt you. I felt every second of it, and I wasn't telling you that tonight to tease you. I was telling you that I understand—that I felt the same."

Valen tried to draw her gaze from Conor, but her green eyes began to clear.

"That's it, love. Just look at my eyes and see that it's true," Conor pleaded.

Rowan's eyes squeezed shut, and she winced in pain.

"Love is what holds back the dark." Her voice was a raspy whisper, but the relief nearly knocked Conor over.

"Fight, Rowan. Fight him."

She focused on Conor as she opened her mouth and started to sing.