The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(30)

He sat on the edge of the bed, silent, not touching her. She sensed his presence, though, as she so often did when he was near. With a sleepy groan, she rolled onto her back.

Green eyes fluttered open. “You’re back.”

“Yes.”

She came up slightly, supporting herself on her elbows. His eyes followed the sway of her breasts. When they returned to her face, he saw she was frowning.

“You’re all wet. Is it raining?”

“No. I washed again. At the well.” He hesitated, then added, “There was more blood.”

“You...found something to kill, then?”

He tensed. “I...yes.”

“That’s good.” She bit her lip. “What was it?”

“A bull.” It was a cowardly partial truth, but he couldn’t bring himself to say more.

Her eyes returned to his. He read relief there. “This was your second kill?”

He nodded.

“It should be easier to resist from now on.”

Arthur wasn’t so sure about that, but for her sake, he nodded again. Then compounded the lie by saying, “Yes. The deathlust is fading.”

His gaze slid from her face, to stare at a gouge in the floor. His hunger for killing was far from fading. Despite the lives he’d so recently taken, he felt restless and empty, ready to kill again. Was this driving need for death normal? Or was it the product of his unguided Ordeal? He didn’t know. There was no adept to ask, and his ancestors’ memories, swirling chaotically in his skull, were no help at all.

“Hey.”

His head swung back to her. She smiled, tentatively, and held out a hand. He studied it, but didn’t take it.

Her smile faded. She let her hand drop to the mattress. “What’s wrong?”

“How did you get here?”

“I told you, I knew you’d be coming here, and—”

“Not why did you come here,” he said. “How? How did you get to from Texas to England? You don’t have a passport.”

“Oh, that.” She made a dismissive gesture. “I didn’t need one. I hitchhiked to Houston, slipped through airport security, and boarded the first plane to London.”

His brows rose at this. “No one stopped you?”

“Of course not.” She slipped her hand in her pocket and pulled out the tight bundle of alder shoots Arthur had helped her weave years ago. Nestled inside was Cybele’s touchstone, a green peridot. “I had this, didn’t I? And anyway, humans are amazingly unaware. Not one of them even blinked at my illusions, let alone saw past them. I landed at Heathrow, caught a train to Exeter, then a bus to that cute village on the edge of the moor. I walked the rest of the way.”

He was impressed. Cybele’s magic far surpassed that of any human witch. Arthur hadn’t known many female Nephil dormants—the larger majority, more than eighty percent, of Nephil births were male. But he couldn’t imagine that many female dormants held a candle to Cybele.

“You didn’t have trouble seeing T?’r Cythraul from the lane?” he asked. “Mab’s wardings are strong.”

She slipped her touchstone back into her pocket. “It was a little tricky,” she admitted. “But you described the house to me once—do you remember? That first night we snuck down to the beach?”

That had been two summers ago. The first time they’d been alone together away from Demon’s Hollow. They’d sat on the sand and kissed for the first time. “I don’t even know what we talked about that night,” he admitted. “I mostly just remember kissing you. And how cheesed off Luc was the next morning when he found out we’d gone to the beach without him.”

A shadow passed through Cybele’s eyes. He saw her deliberately blink it away. Damn, but he was a sodding idiot. He never should’ve mentioned Luc.

She shook her head slightly. “I remember every minute of that night. Including what we talked about. But even though I knew what the house looked like, I almost missed seeing it. I walked up and down the road a half-dozen times, wondering if I was in the wrong place entirely. Then I noticed a clump of trees that didn’t look quite right. You know? Like when you paste a picture onto another one and don’t quite match up the edges. After that, the house practically jumped out at me.”

“That’s remarkable. I would’ve thought only an adept could see through Mab’s illusions. And not easily, at that.”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I? I wasn’t about to turn around and go home. I was so scared, worrying about you. Why didn’t you come back to Demon’s Hollow, like we planned?”

He ran his hand over his head. Because I didn’t remember Demon’s Hollow. Or you, or Luc, or anyone else. Only Mab.

“I don’t know,” he said. “When I came out of the Ordeal, my brain was rubbish.” Still is.

“I was so afraid you were dead.”

“I’m not. As you see.”

“Yes.” She reached out and touched him.

Just that tiny point of contact—the tip of her finger against his forearm—reignited his lust. His body tensed. His cock jumped. The attic walls seemed to spin. He closed his eyes, but the lack of sight only made things worse. The sound of her breath made him want to haul her into his arms. His lungs expanded with the scent of her. She smelled of the sky: vibrant and endless, with a hint of storm on the horizon.