A Trace of Moonlight (20 page)

My organs rearranged again and I was some great monstrosity plucked from the sea, a living death of fins and teeth and an insatiable hunger that could never be filled. I would consume this fleshly annoyance that bound me here against my will.

His hands slid over my face to cup my chin, forcing me by inches to look at him. Somehow he captured me with his gaze and I stilled, my sides heaving. We were in blackness, the CrossRoads stretching out beyond us in silver sparkles. I began to shiver, the fire morphing into a bitter cold, turning my limbs to ice.

He shuddered and I realized he was succumbing to it too. The bells in my hair chimed discordantly, and the sound cut through my own internal screaming. Somehow I opened the inner channels as though I might TouchStone him, but there was nothing there, save a shadowed emptiness I could not seem to fill.

His mouth pressed on mine and it was all sweat and
skin and tongue. I trembled with it, his hands roaming through my hair. I’d become myself again, but the chill continued to burn, my heart fizzling like a lump of coal extinguished in a bucket of water.

“Ion?” The name filled my mouth.

“Hush now,” he whispered and held me tighter. “It’s over.”

I
stretched out in a familiar warmth, surrounded by my own sheets. My own scent, wrapped in flannel. I jerked awake, struggling to sit up as I stared into the darkness.

My mouth tasted of ashes, my body ached as though I’d been turned inside out and back again, my limbs swollen and heavy.

I was home. In my apartment?

But I’d been on the CrossRoads . . . and there had been fire . . . daemons . . . the Tree . . . Ion . . .

“Brystion?” I whispered it, afraid I might spoil the dream if I said it too loud.

“I’m here.” His voice sounded rough and raspy, and I tracked its location to finally make out his silhouette in the rocking chair in the corner. I turned on the light, trying to comprehend what I was seeing.

My heart pulsed into my throat as though it meant to take flight, relief and a silent shudder of hysterical laughter thickening my tongue into cotton.

“Ion,” I said hoarsely. “What’s going on?”

“We broke your geas. You’re free.” He didn’t move
from the chair and I stared at him. He was in his mortal form, pale and beautiful, but his eyes were sunken, without their usual arrogance. The chiseled cheekbones were still there, but hollowed, and several days’ worth of stubble crested the rise of his jawline.

Something wasn’t right here.

“Where are the others?”

He shrugged. “At Eildon Tree, I suspect. To be honest, I don’t care.”

“But Talivar? Phineas?” I slid off the bed, wrapping the blankets around my shoulders as I walked toward him. I was naked beneath them, which was for the best, given that my clothes were probably not worth saving.

I stroked the roughness on his face with a curious finger. “That’s a new look for you, isn’t it?”

He said nothing, but his lips compressed.

I turned his chin so he was forced to look at me. “What’s going on, Ion? What the hell happened to us in the Dreaming? Why didn’t you come see me before?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters! Christ, Ion, I thought I’d killed you!” I slid a tendril of damp hair from my face, surprised to notice I’d been cleaned up. I must have been pretty far out of it if I didn’t even remember being bathed. “How long have I been gone?”

“Several months . . . I guess. I lost track of time . . . after you died.” He snorted. “I’ve been crashing here; I hope you don’t mind.”

“Just like old times,” I murmured, earning me a mouth twitch. “But I still don’t understand what’s going on.”

He captured my hand and pressed it to his cheek, his lips brushing over the palm. “I never thought I’d
see you again,” he whispered. “That I’d given it up for you . . . only to have you disappear . . .”

He kissed my hand again and a flutter raced up my arm.

But it was different somehow. In the past, Brystion had never hesitated to use at least a bit of his formidable sexual power to invoke a response I usually had to struggle to resist. This time, there was something off . . .

“Well, I’m here now. For whatever that’s worth.” I leaned down and kissed his forehead. “It’s good to be home, such as it is.” I glanced around my room, basking in the worn furniture, the Celtic wall tapestries, the glow of the lamp on the bedside table.
Home.

The digital clock dutifully displayed the time. It was nearly noon, and I almost laughed at how normal it was to have a clock to look at. “It’s not much, but it’s mine. I don’t think I ever quite appreciated that before. Elves have perfectly lovely decor, but sometimes it’s nice to have things be normal . . .”

My words trailed away and I had the feeling he wasn’t really listening. And then his eyes popped open, dark and anguished. Without a word, he hoisted me into his arms, launching us toward my bed, his mouth nipping at mine.

“What are you doing?”

“Think that’s rather obvious, Abby.”

I placed my hand on his chest and shook my head. “Are you serious?”

“I have to make this right. “Somehow.”

“I hardly think this is the time for a bedtime romp.” I hesitated. Had Sonja told him about my handfasting?

“No. Just . . . let me hold you. Please.” His voice
took on a desperate edge, and I allowed him to place me on the blankets. He made no move to search out my naked form beneath.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

He buried his face in the nape of my neck, his fingers curling into my hair tight enough to make me cry out. “You were dead, Abby. You were dead and I was here and I couldn’t get to you in time. I couldn’t find you. I looked and I looked and you were gone and you left me here . . .”

I’d never seen him like this. “How long has it been . . . since I died?”

“Six months after you drank the lethe. Three weeks since I was told you died.”

My brain tried to wrap itself around loss of time. The loss of my memories. The loss of my
life
. The rational part of me attempted to figure out the date. I’d last been here in late July, so that meant it was now . . . nearly February?

On instinct, I wrapped my arms about his shoulders, both of us beginning to shake with the reality of our situation. And even if I continually felt as though I was being buffeted by forces I could never quite escape, this moment held a particular tenderness that belonged solely to me.

And him.

“I’m here now,” I repeated.

He kissed me hard then, but it wasn’t a sexual thing as much as a reassurance that I was actually here. I returned it, tentatively, my mouth upon his. We clung to each other until he let out a shuddering breath, his body slumping so that he sprawled out beside me. One hand stroked my forehead, brushing over my mouth again and again, every nerve shivering with potential.

My lips parted to capture his finger, halting his incessant movement. His breath hitched, as an incoherent sound escaped him.

“Gods, this is real,” he said hoarsely. “You’re real. You’re fucking real.”

“Yes?”

He stared at me, but his eyes were dark, without a hint of gold.

“I’m sorry, Abby. I’m so sorry.” He rolled away, draping his feet over the edge of the bed before moving to the window. I broke out in goose bumps as the warmth of his body disappeared and I draped the blanket around me in a shield of cotton.

“What just happened here?”

“I thought you were a dream. I have this dream . . . every night.”

I cocked my head at him. “A dream? But I thought incubi didn’t dream.”

Before he could answer, the bedroom door burst open and Talivar strode in, his face blackened with soot, Phineas trotting at his heels. The elf barely acknowledged Brystion, wrapping me in his arms.

“Oh, Abby,” he murmured, with barely a tremor in his voice. But it was all there in his gaze, fear and relief and a terrible sorrow. “You’re alive, love. You disappeared through the Door and I thought . . .” He pushed the hair away from my forehead and planted a kiss there before capturing my mouth.

“Helloooo awkward,” Phineas muttered from the doorway.

I fidgeted under Talivar’s sudden scrutiny, his gaze darting between me and Brystion with a grim understanding. “So that’s how it is.”

Phineas made a little “O” with his mouth, his gaze
darting between the three of us. “Exit, stage right.” His hooves rapped on the floor as he bolted for the kitchen, leaving me to face my tangled responsibilities alone.

I winced, trying not to glance at Brystion, who was carelessly throwing on his shirt. “A daemon pulled me through. One of the ones from before . . .”

“I knew him,” the incubus said shortly. “When I worked for Maurice.”

Of course. I tried not to flinch. When Sonja had gone missing, Brystion had agreed to work for Maurice to try to find where she’d gone. The price for that information had been me, even if Maurice had been pulling the strings all along.

“Did you know he would be at the Tree?”

Ion shook his head. “I just wanted to see you for myself. Sonja said you were at the Barras, so that’s where I went. But I got there too late. By the time I tracked you down to Eildon Tree, things were in chaos. When I saw him drag you off through the Door, I followed.” His upper lip curled, an echo of his normal confidence sparking over his face. “Of course, I also killed the fucker.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t remember that part,” I said dryly. “Shapeshifting into a snake and puking my guts out sorta took most of my attention.”

Talivar frowned. “How did you break the geas?”

I gave the king a wry smile. “We pulled a ‘Tam Lin,’ I guess, though I’m not entirely sure how. I thought it had to be done during a solstice or something.”

The elf’s frown deepened as he looked at Brystion. “That’s a rather interesting ability . . . for a daemon.”

“The CrossRoads run thin at Eildon Tree,” was
all Brystion said, and the following silence stretched out into something far more uncomfortable than I liked.

I fidgeted with the blanket and turned toward Talivar. “The Tree? What happened to it? Where are the others?”

A note of grief tinged his voice. “It’s damaged, almost beyond saving. Your father was injured, but he’ll survive.”

“And what happens if the Tree dies?” I didn’t want to ask, but I had to.

“I don’t know.” His nostrils flared wide. “The Tree is everything. Without it the CrossRoads will most likely collapse . . . I don’t know if the Paths will even be able to survive without it.”

“I don’t understand. Why would anyone try to destroy it? And why now?”

Talivar gave me a helpless shrug. “I wish I knew.”

“So what do we do?”

A hand dropped onto my shoulder. The bells in my hair chimed as Brystion tipped my chin toward him. “
You
don’t do anything.”

“What are your intentions here, daemon?” Talivar edged beside me, the two men facing off with grim determination. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“No,” Ion agreed, glancing down at me. “I told you before that I’d take you from Faerie to save your life. I failed you once and I will not do so again.”

“Abby belongs with me, with her family.” Talivar’s upper lip curled in a snarl.

The incubus snorted. “Does she? Have you asked her what she wants—would you even listen to her if she told you?” He shook his head. “I’ve tasted her
dreams, elf . . . I know her far better than the rest of you.”

“Nobu put you up to this, didn’t he?” Talivar growled. “What little balance we had with the daemons is gone now.”

“Nobu had nothing to do with this.” Brystion arched a brow at him. “And I don’t recall you being quite that concerned about that possibility before. A little bit more distasteful now that you wear the crown, isn’t it?” he drawled.

Talivar stiffened. “That was different.”

“Different because you could blame it on
me
.” Ion’s mouth kicked up into a crooked half smile. “I wouldn’t worry about the blame. After all, I claim the Fourth Path now.”

The blood drained from my face. “But that would mean you’re . . .”

“Human. Mortal.” He nodded, raising his head at Talivar. “And therefore not under the jurisdiction of your claims. Not at Eildon Tree. Not here.”

“But—”

Talivar’s eye narrowed. “Human?”

Brystion’s mouth twitched as he lifted my hand to place a gentle kiss upon the palm. “Our Abby has talents she hasn’t even begun to tap yet. She’s a Dreamer. I am a creature of the Dreaming. Even without her memories, she was somehow able to Dream me into mortality . . . and that’s no small feat.” His fingers twined in my hair to find his bells. “Not that this was my original intention.”

“Do you want them back?” I still hadn’t quite grasped the implication of whatever he thought I’d done . . . but the pieces fell into place rather quickly.
If he was no longer an incubus, then he couldn’t reach the Dreaming the way he had before.

He shook his head, withdrawing his hand regretfully. “They belong to you . . . That part of my life is over.”

“Why would you do this? That wasn’t even remotely close to the plan.” Talivar’s brow drew down, the soot making him appear even more disturbed.