As he watched, Tyriel moved closer, in total silence, and he couldn’t sense her magic, realized she’d quieted her own magic as she left the protective circle of the camp, which is why Irian hadn’t sensed her.
Aryn had to watch as tears filled her eyes, as she heard his words and staggered from them.
“Bloody blasted, cruel bastard.”
Aryn couldn’t disagree, his gut souring as guilt twisted through him.
“Where is she?”
“I know not. I am not omnipotent. And Tyriel is not my bearer. I know not her heart and mind, other than what she tells me and what I can see for myself. But I suspect she has gone on into Ifteril. It’s the nearest city and she’s low on supplies. Ifteril. Damn it all. The last place I want her to be. Aryn, she’s in danger there. And she’s alone.”
* * * * *
Her supplies would have to wait until she had money. She left Kilidare untethered outside the town walls since Bel wasn’t there to keep him company and the elvish stallion took off at a wild gallop. With a stern thought, she told him, Be ready. We are not staying long.
Ready. Ready. Promise.
Painting a bold as brass smile on her face, she made her way through the gate and into crowded streets, unaware that she had caught the eye of somebody who knew her face, her magic. If she hadn’t been shielding so tightly against Irian, she would have sensed her watcher.
His dark eyes roamed over her face, his blood-red braid pulled back into a queue, hidden under his shirt. His hood kept him in shadow. He made note of the inn where she stopped, and waited.
She didn’t come out.
Tainan Delre smiled slowly, coldly. She had walked right to him. The little bitch who had taken his power circle five years ago had walked right to him. And without the two powerful warrior men at her side. Oh, aye, she had battled the demon and won. But it was the dark-haired male that had truly frightened Tainan.
A snarl spread across his face—frightened. That she had brought fear into his life still sickened him, that still caused him sleepless nights…oh, she would pay for that. That she had led somebody into his world who had caused him fear—that anything had caused him fear—was something unforgivable.
She would pay. With her blood, her body, her own fear...and death.
And she would pay slowly.
All it would take was her blood, her magic, and he would be restored to what he had once been.
What he had been before that battle five years ago.
Then he could start again, anew, but he would be more careful. No cities this time. Only his homeland, and he would pluck stragglers, or lone women traveling. Even couples, and kill the man before he took his time with the woman—that fear and anger would be a bonus.
Soon… he could have it all again soon.
And all because she had wandered into this town. The blood of an elvish warrior was a fine pure rush, and such a sacrifice she would be, once broken.
The scar marring the right side of his face twisted as he smiled. Walking away from the inn, he felt lighter, filled with purpose. He would return, tonight. And he would take her.
* * * * *
Irian homed in on Tyriel like a beacon, finding the inn where she had lit within an hour of entering the crowded, dark city of Ifteril. Aryn could have searched for hours, days, or weeks, and perhaps never have seen her.
The enchanter found her easily, quickly.
And furiously.
“The lass bloody well knows she is in danger…I warned her foolish hide—she doesn’t listen t’ reason.”
Aryn stood in the shadow, listening to her play. She had donned one of her few Wildling garbs, a brightly colored, low-cut red blouse, with a corselet laced over it, a full skirt, her hair flowing wild and free down her back.
Taking one look at the wild beauty of her, he knew exactly what she was up to—looking for money, and fast. “I don’t think she is much in the way of reasoning right now, but Tyriel isn’t helpless.”
“Tyriel isn’t thinking at all right now, you fucking fool,” Irian snarled at him. He shimmered into view. It no longer worried Aryn that others would see him. Irian could allow others to see him, if he chose, but only by his choosing was he seen. “There is something black, something hideous after her and she needs t’ be thinking but she isn’t thinking at all.”
She was so lovely, so ethereal, and so earthy at the same time. With the blood of the elves and the Wildlings in her, how could she be otherwise?
“Go to her.” Irian’s urging was bone-deep, blood boiling urgent. That Aryn wanted to so badly was all the more reason to resist. “She is safe, so long as she is by your side.”
“So now I fuck her to keep her safe?”
The lively music of the flute skipped a beat, and Aryn swore, his eyes flying across the room, meeting hers, those dark, deep eyes. She had heard him. Again. Over the music, the laughter, the shouts, those damnable exotic, elvin ears had heard the one thing he had said out loud, the one thing that sounded so damn cruel.
Her lids lowered and the music played on.
Tyriel had known the minute they came through the door. Irian’s presence, his overwhelming rage and relief crashed into her mind, and she couldn’t help but feel relieved herself. Darkness had eaten at her almost all day, but she wasn’t sure if it was her own pain, or something more.
Aryn’s eyes had roamed over her, like a hand, firm and strong, almost palpable in its intensity. Her nipples were still peaked, pressed hard against her silk blouse, the gay colors of her clan garb bringing false color to her skin. Under the long skirt, she shifted her legs, crossed them, the leather of her thigh-high boots hugging her legs. She was wet with want for him and yet her heart felt bruised.
His words rang once more in her ears.
So now I fuck her to keep her safe?
She hardened her heart and willed magic into her playing, uncaring that she crossed a line she’d once set for herself. She wanted, needed that money.
She would leave in the morning, and return home to Averne.
“Stop playing.”
She ignored his low voice. And played.
Aryn had paid the pub owner for a table near where she played when she hadn’t listened—paid him well enough that the man had evicted the patron sitting there and now he watched her, eyes brooding and intent.
She didn’t look at him as she played on, the music pouring from her flute as magic danced in the air.
A dark shadow came through the door and she looked up instinctively, the hair on her neck standing on end.
A cloaked man took a table in the corner and although a hood shadowed his face, she could feel his eyes on her.
Fear slid through her belly.
There lies death. The man, tall, obscured and hidden in his robes, settled in a corner watching her.
Tearing her eyes from him, and her concentration from Aryn, she played.
Time had passed. Aryn paid the innkeeper more coins, securing himself a room, a large comfortable, clean one, the best the inn had to offer, and after that he had accepted some ale and food from the passing barmaid.
She had offered him a bit more as well, and Tyriel wondered sourly why in hell Aryn had told this one no.
Shoving it out of her mind, she let her eyes wander back to the man in black, whose eyes and face she couldn’t see.