From a distance, through the rain and the fog, she heard someone calling her name.
One step, she told herself, then another.
She heard the hawk, saw the horse, a gray blur speeding through the mists, and the hound streaking behind him.
She saw Boyle running toward her as if devil dogs snapped at his heels.
And as the world spun and spun, she saw with some amazement Connor leap off Alastar’s bare back.
He shouted something, but the roaring in her head muffled the sound.
Shadows, she thought. A world of shadows.
They closed in and swallowed her.
She swam through them, choked on them, drowned in them. She heard her father laugh, but cruelly, so cruelly.
You’re to blame, selfish, heartless girl. You have nothing. You are nothing. You feel nothing.
I’ll give you power, Cabhan promised, his voice a caress. It’s what you truly want, what you covet and crave. Bring me his blood, and I’ll give you power. Take his life, and I’ll give you immortality.
She struggled, tried to claw her way through the shadows, back to the light, but couldn’t move. She felt bound, weighed down while the shadows grew thicker, thicker so she drew them in with every breath.
Every breath was colder. Every breath was darker.
Do what he asks, her father urged her. The witch is nothing to you; you’re nothing to him. Just bodies groping in the dark. Kill the witch. Save yourself. I’ll come back to you, princess.
Then Connor reached for her hand. He glowed through the shadows, his eyes green as emeralds.
Come with me now. Come back with me. I need you, aghra. Come back to me. Take my hand. You’ve only to take my hand.
But she couldn’t—didn’t he see—she couldn’t. Something snarled and snapped behind her, but Connor only smiled at her.
Sure you can. My hand, darling. Don’t look back now. Just take my hand. Come back with me now.
It hurt, it hurt, to lift that heavy arm, to strain against binding she couldn’t see. But there was light in him, and warmth, and she needed both so desperately.
Weeping, she lifted her arm, reached out for his hand. It was like being pulled by her fingertips out of thick mud. Being dragged a centimeter at a time, and painfully, while some opposing force pulled her back.
I’ve got you, Connor said, his eyes never leaving hers. I won’t let you go.
Then she felt as if she exploded, a cork out of a b
ottle, into the clear.
Her chest burned, burned as if her heart had turned into a hot coal. When she tried to draw in air, it seared up into her throat.
“Easy now, easy. Slow breaths. Slow. You’re back now. You’re safe. You’re here. Shh now, shh.”
Someone sobbed, wrenching, heartrending. It took her minutes to realize the sounds came from her.
“I’ve got you. We’ve got you.”
She turned her face into Connor’s shoulder—God, God, the scent of him was like cool water after a fire. He lifted her.
“I’m taking her home now.”
“My house is closer,” she heard Fin say.