Chapter 16

The water around her was dim, and when she broke through the lake’s surface, thunder crashed through the sky, vibrating in her eardrums and lodging in her teeth. Lightning raced after it, rain pelting down, hitting her face. It blurred her vision and drove her back down. She coughed and gasped, thrashing, drawing on whatever strength was left to turn and find the shore.

Sorcha tried to gauge where she’d surfaced, finally figuring out the lakeshore was behind her. It was a few hundred yards away, and there, waiting on the rocks, was Adrian. His posture changed when he spotted her, but she couldn’t see his face clearly. Briefly, she wondered if there would be relief there. Lacus said Adrian had called for her like a lover. But what did monsters know of love?

As she swam, the wind picked up to whistle in her ears, howling and cold, pushing waves toward the shore. She struggled and fought to keep moving, the fatigue in her muscles intensifying. If she stopped, she’d never make it.

The storm churned overhead, dark clouds gathering and settling low over the water as more rain fell. Thunder rumbled, shivering through the water.

Reaching the shore was the only thing that mattered. The rest she could worry about after solid ground was beneath her feet. A shout caught her attention—her name or a word, she couldn’t be sure—and Adrian waded out into the water to meet her. Something that might have been anxiousness colored his features, and her heart leaped, pushing her forward.

“Sorcha,” Adrian spoke gently. “You’re safe.”

Adrian pulled her out of the water, arms so tight around her it hurt—his hands large and warm on her body. Sorcha clung to him, pressing her face into his neck and concentrating on how solid he was. Safe. He felt safe after everything that had happened beneath the surface of the lake. For a heart-stopping second, his mouth brushed her cheek as if he might press a kiss to her wet skin, but he didn’t. Without saying anything else, he carried her through the shallows and up the rocky shore. The rain ceased as soon as they left the water, but the thunder continued to rumble, rocking across the sky.

Sorcha pulled out of Adrian’s grasp as they reached the grass, landing on her hands and knees. She coughed up more water, trying to catch her breath and working to ignore the way every muscle in her body screamed with exhaustion, the way it pounded behind her eyes as a headache slammed into her.

The feeling of failure broke over her, a drowning force as powerful as the pull of the water. She’d been unable to reach the relic, and there was no way they could continue without it. She’d have to go back and convince Lacus to change his mind. But he’d already refused to help, so how would he react if she returned?

Wrapping her arms around herself, shivering with fatigue, Sorcha closed her eyes. Scents of late fall filled her lungs—pine trees and dead leaves—winter creeping farther south and closer every day. Her skin prickled with it, gooseflesh rising along her arms and legs, jaw clenched in an effort to keep her teeth from chattering. She’d almost drowned down there in the dark, lost in a sunken city with no way out, and then dragged to freedom by an eel. The terror of it sang through her body, a high, bright chord that thrummed in her muscles.

I could have died down there. I almost did.

She’d been so close, her desire to find the relic and resurrect the Saint at war with the building fear of what that meant. The Empire of the White Snake wanted him, the priests and priestesses were waiting somewhere in death to be recalled, and Sorcha had yet to truly accept what any of that meant.

More than anything, she wanted something to drive it all away—to silence the ringing and drive it from her mind. She wanted to be held. She sucked in a sharp breath, overtaken by the sudden desire to have someone pull her into their arms. She wanted someone to kiss away the sobs that threatened to rise from her chest in an unstoppable storm.

She wanted Adrian.

“Sorcha.” When she turned, he held out his black cloak, light sliding across the surface of the silver wolf clasp. “Take this.”

The clothes she wore, what little remained, were plastered to her skin—every line of her body visible. Adrian stepped forward when she didn’t move, shaking out the cloak and sweeping it around her shoulders. The action stopped her shivering, the cold of her skin heating suddenly at his nearness. His black-gloved hand brushed her skin, and more warmth radiated outward from his light touch.

Holding her breath, Sorcha reached out and placed her hand flat on his chest. She kept her gaze on her fingers, her skin wrinkled after being submerged for so long. Beneath her palm, his chest rose and fell, and his heart was pounding. Slowly, she raised her eyes, caught on his perfect mouth and the muscle jumping in his clenched jaw.

Desire uncoiled in her stomach, spreading greedy tendrils through her body, warming her breasts and lower belly. Death and desire. She’d seen how people reacted to it. Remembered how she’d reacted in the past. The urge to feel alive when others were gone, when faced with mortality. Any second, she could die—she almost had—but right now, she was alive. And Adrian wanted her—she knew it in her heart—and with each breath he took, he was that much closer to giving in.

Did she want him, or did she just want to feel alive? She let out a breath and curled her fingers into his black tunic, remembering the clean lines of his body, the muscles and scars. Pulling in a shaky breath, she stepped closer, aware of where their bodies touched, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

“What are you doing?” he asked, the question low.

He didn’t move, hands loose at his sides. But he breathed raggedly, and she imagined he leaned into her touch.

Sorcha met his gaze, seeing nothing but the careful expression he wore. Disinterest or disdain, she couldn’t be sure which. No warmth. No answering desire. His jaw was clenched, lips thinning as she watched.

He didn’t want her.

She removed her hand and stepped back on shaky legs. She’d been so sure before. Now she felt like a fool for crossing every boundary she had to touch a man she despised. She did despise him, didn’t she? Emotions coursed through her. She hated him. Loathed him. Feared him. Wanted nothing at all to do with him. And yet, she’d been the one to reach out, to touch him. To want him.

“I don’t know why I did that,” she said, heart racing.

“You’ve called me a monster.” Adrian’s voice was soft, his eyes half-lidded now, jaw unclenched.

“You are.” Her words were firm, but beneath them lay a shadow of another emotion—did he sense it? She felt as if it were written all over her face.

When you look at me, I see fire in your eyes.

And I want to burn.

* * *

Sorcha took another step back, slipping on the edge of the cloak before turning toward the distant camp. Adrian could see Domenico and Thompson sitting near the fire with their backs to them. Magnus and Ivo were with the horses. The others were out of sight in their tents or hunting. There was no sign of Revenant.

Adrian clenched his hands at his sides, the leather gloves stretching tight over his knuckles. Slowly, he released his grip, focused on the woman walking away from him. Sorcha.

If he said her name, would that tentative expression return? Had she known what she was asking? The silent question between them, had she realized what she’d offered? He couldn’t want her. Couldn’t even let himself think about it. About the warmth of her beneath him, her sighs in his mouth, the moment he could consume every inch of her skin.

If he didn’t scare her, she would touch him again, and then he would never be able to say no. Without thinking, Adrian closed the distance between them. He came up behind her and slipped an arm around her waist, jerking her back into his body. She was delicate, shivering as he ran a gloved hand up her neck to tilt her head back against his chest. He lowered his mouth to her ear, brushing his lips against her soft skin, and breathed her in—damp and cold, a woman made of water and winter in his arms. He exhaled, enjoying the way she trembled, his body stirring with desire.

“Is this what you want, Sorcha? A monster in your bed?” She didn’t move, rigid in his arms now. He stroked her throat, tilting her head to the side, exposing more tender flesh. He lowered his voice, tightness filling his groin, each breath coming more quickly. “Between your thighs?”

Sorcha’s heart raced, pulse pounding against his fingers on her throat, the warmth of her seeping through the leather gloves.

Adrian slid the hand gripping her waist up, brushing the swell of one breast, and satisfaction coursed through him when a breathy sigh rushed out of her. It took everything he had not to rip the thin, damp cotton clinging to her breasts and thighs. He wanted to strip her down and kneel before her, wanted her hands to tangle in his hair as he drove her over a cliff and into white-hot release.

But that would be a mistake.

“Go back to camp,” Adrian said, letting her go—turning her loose.

For a moment, she swayed on her feet, head turned a fraction of an inch in his direction.

Go, he thought, willing her to move. Or I won’t give you a choice.

His gut twisted, anger spiking through him. He hated himself for touching what he could never have, for letting desire take control.

Finally, Sorcha stumbled away, slipping on the damp grass and clutching his cloak to her waist. He watched her, waiting until the firelight touched her—catching in her damp hair—her figure haloed in warmth.

Magnus watched her silently as she made her way to the tent they shared.

Adrian let out a breath, scrubbing his hands over his face. There would be questions. Sorcha hadn’t brought the relic back, and they’d have to decide to try for it again or move on. He wasn’t sure he could watch her disappear into the lake again. But he would never go against the commands of his prince.

* * *

The night had been long. Sorcha had slept with her back to him, her soft, even breathing filling his head. There had been almost no space between them. He could have touched her; he could have rolled her beneath him and forced her to open for him. To take something she’d almost offered. But that would be a mistake. She’d clouded his thoughts so much already. The desire to touch her, to feel her mouth on his, to touch every part of her, was a dangerous distraction.

Adrian had risen before the sun and began to break camp as soon as it was light enough to see. It wasn’t long before the others were awake and taking care of their tents and horses, preparing for the long ride south.

Sorcha woke as the cooking fire was put out. A bowl of cooling porridge on a canvas stool outside the tent for her. She’d reached out for it—a long bare arm visible for a moment—and retreated to the interior to eat in peace.

He hadn’t rushed her, letting her eat and prepare for the day at her own pace. The men were impatient, rechecking the bundles on their horses, stepping away to take care of personal needs one last time.

Finally, Sorcha emerged from the tent wearing head-to-toe crimson—a simple riding dress and her fur-lined cloak, the soft red leather gloves in one hand. He glanced at her, taking in her dark, loose hair around her shoulders, and vibrant green eyes. She tended to wear her hair in a loose knot at the base of her skull or wrapped in a scarf beneath the hood she kept up to shadow her face as they rode.

“We’ll go south and west from here.” Thompson waved two rolled maps—one in each hand—as he came to stand beside Adrian. “There are no caves marked on the map created over the last year by the prince’s cartographers. But her skin promises it will be there.”

Her skin.

Adrian hated the idea that this map was a part of her—a part everyone in the party consulted and referenced at all times. Mine. The thought shocked him. She wasn’t his, far from it, and this was just another example of his private desires crossing over into the life he’d chosen as the prince’s personal killer. There was no room for her in the decisions he needed to be making as the Wolf.

He turned, positive he felt her gaze—warm between his shoulder blades—but her eyes were somewhere else.

“Lacus!” Sorcha called, dropping her gloves and running for the lake’s edge.

Adrian moved toward her, wanting to stop her from returning to the water. If she slipped beneath the surface again, he knew she wouldn’t survive. But even as that fear expanded in his chest, it died.

A creature made of stone was rising above the surface, holding the golden bones of the Saint.

An arm attached to a hand, gold and covered in jewels. The rising sun caught it, piercing through the trees in shafts of warm light. A bird stopped singing; the wind died down.

The creature held it out for her to take, and he could see from here that she was crying. Tears slid down her cheeks, catching in the morning light. He was too far away to hear what they said to each other—their voices disguised by the lap of water on the shore. When she smiled, it sliced through him, leaving him gasping, a knot of anger and frustration in his chest that it wasn’t him she was smiling for.

“Prince Eine will be pleased we didn’t have to drown his witch to get the bone,” Revenant said, adjusting his sword belt. Adrian made a noise of agreement without taking his gaze from Sorcha. Revenant pulled his gloves on and asked, “Are you?”

Adrian broke his gaze away from the strange pair at the water’s edge, turning to his second-in-command with a question in his mouth. But he stopped, finding Revenant’s eyes intent and fiercely cold.

“Is everyone ready? There will be several days of travel ahead before we reach the sea.”

“Packed and ready.” Revenant jerked his chin at the strange pair by the water. “As soon as the witch brings that cursed bone here.”

“Unpack the velvet for the relic.”

Revenant nodded and turned back to where the rest of the men were double-checking their gear before mounting up. Domenico was already unpacking the velvet and canvas sacks they’d brought with them to transport the relics. The others watched the stone creature with flat expressions—neither curious nor disbelieving. A few had hands on the hilts of their swords, but no one moved to draw their weapons.

They all watched as the creature disappeared into the lake, and Sorcha walked slowly up the rocky beach toward them. Magnus and Domenico met her with the velvets. She hesitated before passing the relic to them, hands lingering even as they stepped away from her. His heart beat more quickly when she began picking her way toward him, tears lingering on her cheeks, face flushed.

“How far until the next relic?” she asked, moving past him without stopping.

“A few days’ ride,” he said, falling into step behind her.

“Maybe this next one won’t try to kill me.”

Adrian didn’t respond. Each location so far had been dangerous. Even the pieces they’d collected before finding the oracle had come with a price. Not for a moment did he believe it would get easier from here.

Abruptly, Sorcha stopped, her back straight, shoulders pulled back, resignation and determination in every line of her body. She let out a sigh before glancing at him over her shoulder.

“But you won’t let anything hurt me.” Her words were flat and matter of fact. “The prince doesn’t want me dead yet.”

It was a statement, not a question. Her tone was soft, and he would have missed it if she’d not turned toward him ever so slightly.

No, he wouldn’t let anything hurt her. But not because the prince wished it to be so.