Moonshadow (Moonshadow #1)(41)

“Right,” she said without looking at him. “I’ll make it quick, so there should be some warm water left for you.”

He didn’t bother to answer that. Instead, he stalked out the door, breathing hard in the cool, damp night air. He had no business feeling any kind of desire for her. She was someone who was possibly of some use to him, nothing more.

She chose to stay when she shouldn’t have. Earlier, she had chosen to engage with the Hounds—and she shouldn’t have. She was also choosing to defend the puck, and by gods, she had already been warned multiple times she shouldn’t have done that.

And he had his mission. There was nothing more critical, more important, than making sure he did everything he possibly could to keep his men alive, to try to find a way back to Lyonesse, and to take down Isabeau and Morgan any way he could.

He had no interest, and no time, for anything else.

After a few minutes, the unwelcome tightening in his groin eased.

He got down to business and set a series of aversion spells around the property, grimly ignoring the ghosts in his head and the ancient memories of the battle that tried to resurface. Whether or not the aversion spells would be useful was anybody’s guess.

The effect of an aversion spell could be directly measured against the intelligence and determination of the creature that encountered it. At least if something tripped a spell, Nikolas would feel it, so he would have advance warning before anything got too close to the cottage.

Also, there were no direct scent trails to lead any questing Hounds to this location. The only way the Hounds could possibly learn to come here would be if they spent some time in human form, questioning people in town. Nikolas and Sophie were probably safe from attack for one night. Possibly not for any longer, but he felt fairly confident about tonight.

Finally he felt like he had done what he could. Only then did he pause to text Gawain. Hounds attacked the pub. Sophie, Robin, and I have moved to a different location.

Gawain replied almost immediately. Damn. Was anyone hurt?

Four casualties. We’re fine. Nikolas paused, then typed more slowly. Sophie ran into the pub to help before I could stop her. She saved lives. She’s a brave fighter.

He paused and then, choosing not to overthink it, hit send.

Gawain’s reply was a few minutes in coming. I’m glad she’s okay. I filled the others in earlier, after I left. We’re all moving into position so that none of us are too far away. Call us for backup if you need to.

I will.

The conversation finished, Nikolas pocketed his phone. He paused to consider the shadowed manor house sprawling over the shattered land magic. It was an ugly, useless building, sitting on a cursed location. The gods only knew what Sophie saw in it.

Turning his back on the manor house, he strode back to the cottage.

Inside, everything was quiet. Sophie’s luggage had disappeared, while his go-bag still rested in the corner nearest the door. The puck was nowhere to be seen. Walking through the small place, he saw that the bedroom was darkened and the door half shut.

Gently he pushed the door open wider to look inside. As it creaked on its hinges, Sophie’s weary voice said, “I don’t recall inviting you in here.”

Thanks for asking, asshole.

Neither of them had to say it.

She had taken a blanket from the linen cupboard and curled up on the bed wrapped in it, atop the bare mattress.

“Too tired to make the bed, I see,” he said quietly.

“I’m clean, dry, warm, and horizontal. And alive. It’ll do for tonight.” She shifted under the blanket and grunted. “The bed can get made tomorrow.”

He had spent far too many nights with much the same reduced survival list, and he almost turned to go, but that quiet sound of pain, and the memory of how stiffly she had been moving after the pub battle stopped him.

Slowly he said, “I know you’re still in pain. I can help you and give you the chance to get some real rest.”

For a long moment he thought she might ignore him. Then she sighed, and the curled knot under the blanket unfurled. “Come in.”

He pushed the door open the rest of the way and prowled in. That was when he saw the puck. Robin had been perched on the headboard. His dark eyes glistened in the shadows. What was he thinking?

As Nikolas approached, Robin slipped down off the headboard and disappeared into another part of the cottage. With a frown, he watched the puck leave. He would never understand Robin, no matter how long either of them lived.

Then he stood by the bed, looking down at Sophie. Even in a shadowed room as dark as this, her eyes gathered every particle of light and magnified them, gleaming like stars. He could see she was uncomfortable with him standing over her, so he nudged her thigh. As she shifted, he sat on the edge of the mattress.

“Watch yourself,” he said. Reaching over to shade her eyes, he turned on the bedside lamp. Underneath his palm, he saw her wince.

“Is the light really necessary?” she said grumpily.

“I don’t know.” He removed his hand and watched her squint.

“How did you not get splashed with blood?” she muttered, eyeing his shirt with resentment. “I almost drowned in it.”

“I was moving fast, while you were on the floor. I got some splashed on my legs.” He angled his head. “Show me where you hurt.”

She grimaced. “Just assume if it’s between the top of my head and the bottom of my feet, it hurts.”