The Goblin King (25 page)

The only crow in the Shadowlands was the druid who had cursed Roan. Was he expecting her to call for Roan? If she did, she could be luring him into a trap.

The giant crow flew straight at her. Head on, eye level. It cried out and her blood became water. Insubstantial in her veins. Her legs cramped. But she ran on, ducking as the crow took to the sky. The steady beat of its wings sounded behind her. Chasing. Sick certainty forced her on.

The crow swept close, the tips of his wings brushing her face. Eliza yanked out handfuls of glossy-black feathers. The crow attacked again, talons outstretched. This time it didn’t pull away. The wind beat against her skin while the bird bloodied its claws. Pain seared up her arm, down her back. Warmth spilled from the wounds she didn’t have time to stop and examine.

Her skin was no match for the flurry of beak and claws. Forced to her knees, she frantically groped around in the dust. She needed a weapon. A rock, a stick, anything. She wasn’t going to let an overgrown feather pillow kill her. Her fingers closed on something hard. She pulled it free of the dirt and lashed out. The impact jarred her arm and rattled her jaw. The crow tumbled through the air, then steadied. Its beady black eyes watching.

Eliza swung her weapon like a batter getting ready to hit a home run. When she saw what she held in her hands she almost dropped it. In her hands was a bone. The length of a thigh. Goblin or human? She forced herself to hold onto it instead of flinging it away. What had Roan said? Something about being one with the sword?

What else had he said? Something about the Shadowlands not being a dream. That if it were, she should be able to control it. She glanced at the bone that had conveniently appeared when she’d needed it. This was a dream…a dream the druid was trying to control with magic. The sneaky bastard. Did he know she’d been meeting Roan in her sleep?

The crow sensed her hesitation and swooped. She ducked and swung but didn’t connect with the bird. Blood streamed down her arms burning her skin. Could she die in a dream? Surely there shouldn’t be this much blood?

“What do you want, Elryion?” She needed to wake up. Instead of the cold of the Shadowlands she tried to imagine the warmth of her bed. She was in bed, sleeping. The Shadowlands shimmered as if the dream were breaking apart.

The crow flapped and cocked his head as if considering the woman who poured blood into the dust. Adrenaline pounded in her veins. Her pulse became the pulse of the Shadowlands. The ground jumped with each beat. Her legs weakened, threatening to send her sprawling into the red mud at her feet. The dust was slick with blood. Her blood.

Eliza stabbed the bone forward. “Shoo.”

The crow seemed to smile and nod. Then the landscape bounced and slid out of focus. Eliza blinked to clear her vision. The crow was gone along with the Shadowlands.

Her heart raced as she lay in the tangled sheets of her bed. The violent switch in realities had been missing. No lurching, spinning darkness. It had been nothing but a dream. A horrible, realistic dream, but she’d never left her bed. Her breathing slowed. She placed a hand over her heart thankful it hadn’t been real.

Her fingers were sticky-wet on her skin. Not slippery like sweat. Her heart gave a solid thump and seemed to stop. She raised her hand, but in the dark there were no colors to be seen. Her arms began to burn as if someone had laid a poker against her flesh. Without breathing she reached out and groped for the bedside light. The pale light glistened on the red that streaked her skin. Large spots blossomed where heavy drips fell on her pajamas. She was bleeding. Her heart picked a pace like that of a panicked rabbit.

How could a nightmare have ricocheted into reality?

She used the sheet to wipe at the blood, hoping to find untorn flesh beneath. Deep cuts appeared along the length of her arms and were swiftly filled and hidden. It wasn’t just her arms. She turned; where she had been lying streaks of blood patterned the white sheet. The calm she had been holding on to became brittle and shattered. She clamped her teeth together and held the sheet tightly over the most damaged arm. Blood soaked through too fast, escaping out of her artery with each beat of her heart. Her body was hot and prickly, but she shivered anyway.

She should call in the emergency.

Where was her cell phone?

There was too much blood. The edges of the room became fuzzy as it spun around her. The silence was full of buzzing. She was going to die. But if she called Roan, he’d die too. Or suffer a life worse than death. Her eyes closed. Roan. She held onto the dream of seeing Roan again in the Summerland.

Over the din of the attacking Hoard, Eliza’s thought swept past Roan. Faint, lacking her usual brilliance and desire. With the castle fortified, he left the battle and went to her, intending to be just a moment. She wasn’t in the Summerland like he expected. She was in the Fixed Realm. Dying.

Blood was everywhere. Her skin was ruddy with the smears. Roan pulled her to him, searching for the wound, her blood giving his fingers the only color they had ever known as a goblin. Bloodred on goblin-gray. Another promise broken, but he had to touch her to heal her. What he found was dozens of cuts. Some nothing more than a scratch, others tore deep into the flesh, slashing arteries and veins. He’d seen worse wounds on the battlefield, but his guts still rolled at seeing the woman he wanted to love hurt.

“Eliza.” He spun out the magic, healing the deepest of tears, slowing the flow of blood. What had happened? No one hid in the house. Eliza was alone. His gaze scanned the bed but there was no weapon that could cause these injuries and there were too many for it to be self-inflicted.

Her head rested against his chest as he scooped her up. He’d never wanted to cradle her with these hands. For a moment he didn’t know what to do with her. She needed more healing, and he had more power in the Shadowlands…and he didn’t want her to wake and see him like this. But his home was under siege by the Hoard.

His lips twisted. Eliza was safer with him than she was here. But Roan heard the lies he was telling himself. He would’ve used any excuse to bring Eliza back to the Shadowlands to be at his side. He needed his queen, and he wasn’t strong enough to leave her in the Fixed Realm. He stepped into the puddle of shadow made by the bed and crossed between realms. His caves were haunted with the ring of metal on rock and the screeching of goblin war cries. Eliza jerked in his arms and her eyes flickered open.

“You came.”

“Of course I did. You asked me to.” He would come whenever she called, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. He sat with her on his bed, her blood soaking into his clothes as magic seeped from him into her damaged flesh. “What happened?”

“The druid found me.” Her words were barely a whisper.

He shook his head. His fingers, moving against her skin. “That’s not possible. He can’t cross through.”

The druid wasn’t goblin. He was human and humans never left the Shadowlands. They couldn’t, because they couldn’t use people’s nightmares to pull themselves across the threshold. That didn’t mean the druid hadn’t been trying.

“In my sleep.” She closed her eyes.

Why was Elryion stalking Eliza? Surely he would know that Roan would never let his queen be killed.

“Stay with me, Eliza.”

Her eyelids fluttered, too wounded to obey.

Damn you, Elryion.

The druid had never intended to kill Eliza, just injure her enough that Roan was forced to use magic, or watch her die. A piece of his soul for her life. A trade he was happy to make, but he wanted some left to enjoy the bargain. He placed his hands over the cuts. As his finger traced each line the skin healed. Not perfectly, but enough to stop the blood loss. Perfect, scarless skin would use too much magic. They would both have to settle for near enough. A howl tore through the air, sounding closer than it was.

Eliza lifted her head, her body tense as if the noise were preventing her from falling asleep. “What’s happening?”

“The Hoard is attacking. I had to seal the caves.”

“They’re trying to get in?” She peered over his shoulder as if expecting goblins to appear.

“Elryion must have told them we have gold.” Roan started on her other arm. Defensive wounds. Her stomach and face were untouched.

She flinched and dropped her gaze to watch his hands move over her damaged flesh.

He paused, torn between causing her more pain and getting the job done to stop the blood flow. “Does it hurt?”

“No. It’s just cold.” She began to shake again. She was going into shock.

“Look at me, not at the blood, Eliza.” He pushed some magic into her the way a doctor might give drugs.

She lifted her chin, color returning to her cheeks. “You shouldn’t be using magic on me.”

“Who else am I going to use it on?” He tried to smile to reassure her, but every cell that multiplied and closed the gash pushed him closer to the edge of oblivion. This time the edge was lit by one small white star that burned in the dark. He’d never seen it or felt it before, but he took the star as another sign he was losing the battle to hold onto his soul.

“Thank you.”

The small cuts he left un-magicked. Roan lifted the skimpy top, ready to trace over the cuts on her back. Her heartbeat echoed in his chest, and her breath was warm against his neck. For a moment, all he did was hold her. If he closed his eyes and ignored the cloying smell of blood, he could pretend nothing stood between them. He gently smoothed his hand over her damaged skin.

“Let’s clean the blood off and see what I’ve missed.” Once he would have washed with magic. Now he was becoming almost human, having to wash with water and save what soul he had left. All things he’d once taken for granted he now measured and weighed. Compared to an extra day with Eliza most tasks were better completed by hand than with magic. The cost was too high.

He took her hand and led her down the tunnel. The white and gold bathroom, stolen from a five-star hotel, plumbing and all, still made him smile. It didn’t belong here. And neither did he, but they were both stuck here for eternity. Another expensive, beautiful object ripped out of the Fixed Realm on a whim and a dare. Most of his treasures had been lost to the world long before he’d touched them. His castle was a living museum of the forgotten.

The air in the bathroom remained cool, but the water went from black to clear at his touch, then warmed. Some things required no effort, and no discernible drawing of magic—moving between realms, purifying water. There was enough of the Shadowlands now within him that the magic flowed, within reason. Building caves or healing meant drawing magic out of the Shadowlands and that had a price. But he hadn’t learned that until much, much too late.

Roan drew his hand out of the water. “You can get in.”

Her tongue flicked over her lip. She glanced at the shower. “Will it stay like that?”

He nodded, beads jumping. “No games this time.”

Cautiously she stuck her hand under the showerhead and let the water pour over it. She stepped into the shower still dressed in her bloodstained butterfly pajamas. The water turned pink as her arms washed clean. She ran her hand over the tight new skin. The eyes can lie, but touch was real.

Her lips parted as she inspected the fresh scars. “You win. You still have more.”

A smile quirked his lips. “Let’s keep it that way.”

She pulled her arms out of the water. “Can you make it warmer?”

Roan turned the tap, a smile teased his lips.
Only a little game.

“Oh. I didn’t think that would work.” She adjusted the tap.

The water wet her top, plastering it to her skin. The swell of her breast cupped by the damp cotton. With a thought the water cooled. Her nipples tightened and she jumped back. The dare of stealing the bathroom was paying off.

“They’re both cold.” Roan grinned. He needed the cold shower. Seeing her naked earlier in the morning and watching her clothed now was more painful than picking a day to die.

Eliza slapped a handful of water at him. “Cheat.”

Roan placed his hand under the reheated water. “It’s fine now.”

“Prove it. You get in.” She crossed her arms under her bust, lifting them and giving the illusion of showgirl cleavage. “Do more than watch this time.”

“You knew I was there?”

“I always know when you are there.” She laid her hand on his arm.

His skin tightened with pleasure, instead of the pain of being forced to appear. She knew that a goblin had stood in the shadows tracking the flow of water over her skin. She’d turned to face him, to tempt him, to tease him. And he’d been unable to move, unable to touch, because his goblin hands could never love Eliza.

Roan ripped his vest off. He’d dressed for war, not rescue. His weapons belt fell on the floor. The goblins were attacking. The druid needed killing. Eliza wanted loving. The wishes of his queen always came first. He couldn’t waste magic on pulling off clothing. His fingers didn’t move fast enough, unused to crude necessity. He didn’t take his gaze off Eliza. The gold flecks in her eyes became molten as she watched him.

He knelt to unlace his boots. She curled her fingers around the edge of her singlet top and pulled it over her head. There was no chance of breaking the curse, and no risk of damning consequences. Nothing existed between them but the simple lust that thrived between a woman and a man. The lump of metal in his chest turned, as if uncomfortable with this new development.