“He is here,” the Fae said. “Move a step or two to the side, demonkin.”
I frowned, but complied, since I’d already dodged sideways a step to avoid him.
“What—” I started to ask, only to be interrupted when the door of the tumbledown stone cottage sitting perhaps twenty-five yards away flew open.
My heart skipped a beat as a familiar, dark-haired figure stormed out, blue eyes blazing fire. He held a scabbard in one hand, grasping the sword hilt in the other and sliding the blade free with a hissing scrape of metal.
Albigard snorted softly and melted back through the portal with effortless Fae grace. It snapped closed behind him, an instant before the iron blade flew through the place it had been and arced to the ground, burying itself in the loam with a sharp twang. I blinked. Apparently that was why Albigard wouldn’t be delivering his information in person.
My gaze turned back to the scowling vampire. I was vaguely aware that I was gaping at him like a fish, while inside my body, my organs tried to rearrange themselves, swooping and flipping crazily. His eyes settled on mine, the unearthly blue glow bleeding out of them as he stood, tense and unmoving.
“I need to talk to you,” I choked out, past the lump in my throat. “I’ve learned something about Nigellus, and the tithelings—it’s important.”
A look of caution flickered across his features, quickly covered by a cool mask. I remained rooted in place as he stalked past me and retrieved the sword from its resting place in the damp earth, wiping each side of the blade on his trousers before sliding it smoothly back into its sheath.
“Oh?” he asked in a conversational tone. “You know you could have just emailed, luv. I’m sure Guthrie would’ve given you the address.” He returned to stand a few paces in front of me, looking me up and down. “Blimey. You look like you’ve been—”
“To Hell and back?” I offered weakly.
“I was going to say ‘dragged through a hedge backward.’”
All of my resolve to be an adult about things and not give into my long-established weakness for this man was disappearing under a wave of panic. He was here, and I was here, and now I had to tell him that one of his most trusted confidantes had been using and abusing him for centuries.
I scrubbed a shaky hand through my rat’s nest of hair, and gave my surroundings a quick sweep. The structure Albigard had called the millhouse was clearly older than the country I’d been born in by a significant margin. It was set on the side of a verdant green hill, surrounded by rustic fences made of split wood and piled stone.
I remembered the little cottage in County Meath, with its rolling fields and fluffy white sheep. ‘It reminds me of home a bit, this place,’ he’d said.
He was watching me take in the surroundings. Meeting his eyes again was difficult, but I managed it. Suddenly, I felt as exhausted as though I’d run a marathon. Was it because I was drained after my escape from Hell, or because of what I now needed to do? Somehow, I needed to deliver the worst kind of bad news to this man I cared about so much, without letting my pathetic infatuation rear its head.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t reflect too much of what I was feeling.
Rans tilted his head, his dark brows drawing together. “That rather depends on why you’re really here, Zorah,” he said slowly.
“I already told you,” I said. “I need to pass on something important that I’ve just learned.”
“About Nigellus, and the tithelings. Yes, I heard you the first time.”
I stared at him. “Then, what...?”
“Why are you here?” he asked again, putting emphasis on the last word.
Without warning, my knees gave out, and I crumpled to the soft earth. “Because everything is still falling apart, even worse than before,” I said. “Dad’s still in danger, I can’t trust any of the people I thought I could trust, and—”
I clacked my teeth together sharply, cutting off the flow of words before the next ones could tumble out.
“And?” he pressed.
A sharp ache radiated out from my heart, wrapping around my lungs and trying to choke me. All of my good intentions shattered beneath a crashing wave of long-denied emotion.
“And I’ve missed you so much,” I whispered.
His chest rose and fell convulsively, as though he’d sucked in a sharp breath despite the fact that he hadn’t needed to breathe for centuries. Then he dropped down to kneel in front of me, heedless of the damp grass.
“Say that again,” he murmured.
My lower lip started to tremble, and there was a suspicious burning feeling behind my eyes. “I’ve missed you,” I repeated in a wavering voice.
I was in his arms before the final word faded, clinging to him and breathing in the scent of soap and freshly laundered cotton and Rans.
“Zorah,” he whispered against my temple, as my fingers clenched convulsively in his shirt.
“I don’t know what to do,” I confessed.
One of his arms stayed wrapped around me, anchoring me in place against him, while his other hand slid up my spine to cradle the nape of my neck.
“For now,” he murmured against my skin, “I think this will do just fine, don’t you?”
TWENTY-FIVE
PERHAPS AN HOUR later, I sat at a worn wooden table in Rans’ kitchen, cradling a cup of milky tea with one hand. The fingers of my other hand tangled with his cool ones. He sat across from me at the narrow table, our hands outstretched to meet in the middle of the dark wood. I kept my gaze turned down, examining the swirls in the teacup as though they might hold answers.
“I’m told that works better if you drink the tea first, and try reading the leaves afterward,” Rans said mildly.
I swallowed. “I’m so sorry for this.”
His fingers squeezed mine lightly. “Which part?”
I still didn’t look up. “All
