Books by Maggie Shayne (35 page)

She managed to open her eyes again and saw the concern in the white-haired man’s granite face, but she cared only for Ren. Her husband. Her Richard. She scanned the floor where he’d fallen, but he was on his feet again, and lunging toward the demon with murder in his eyes.

The black one whirled before Ren could strike him down, and then the two battled on and on, the sounds of the battle deafening as the two fought so rapidly, it became difficult to watch them. A mirror shattered; the items on her dresser crashed to the floor.

Annie pressed closer, straining to hold back her horrified tears. Ren’s blade trailed fire and struck the dark one’s neck, just below the edge of the helmet. The Black Knight wailed, a roar that echoed endlessly, and fell to his knees.

But Ren dropped as well, lowering his sword and glancing up into her eyes. He pressed one hand to his side, and she saw the blood oozing from between his fingers. God!

Suddenly the dark one shimmered and vanished.

“Draw,” the old man muttered. “They’ll meet yet again.” Then his aged hand closed on Annie’s. “I cannot let him stay,” he told her gently.

She met his pale eyes and whispered, “And I can’t let him go.”

Then the mysterious man dissolved into a multicolored mist that evaporated before her eyes. Annie blinked in confusion but quickly dismissed it and turned, terrified of what she would see.

Ren was lying in the center of the room, on the floor, in his jeans and T-shirt. And the side of the shirt was crimson. His bloodied sword lay at his side, staining the carpet.

Failure tasted like gall, and Ren’s mouth filled with its bitter flavor even as conscious thought began to recede. Worse than the red-hot pain in his side, worse than the weakness flooding him. Failure. He hadn’t defeated his enemy. He hadn’t saved Annie. He’d failed her, and his child as well. He’d failed them both.

Annie’s hands ran over him like silk, her palms tracing his face, sliding down his neck to his shoulders. Her very touch chased the pain into a corner. Down over his chest, lower to his abdomen, and he knew she’d touched him this way before. But her sighs then hadn’t been the distressed ones she uttered now.

Yes, just like this, he thought, at her warm touch on his belly as she pushed his shirt up and away. Then she gasped and drew those satin, healing hands away, and he missed their touch the instant it was gone.

Poor Annie. She was afraid for him. Afraid of losing him. But she would eventually. Either to Sir George or to death.

He forced his eyes open, searched for her, and found her, bending over him again. Her auburn brows bunched together over those sparkling, damp green eyes. There were crinkles of worry on the freckled bridge of her nose. She pressed a wad of fabric to his wounded side. He heard water trickle. Felt her breath on his skin as she bent close to him. And for a time he wasn’t fully aware of what she was doing. Only of her touch, her closeness. She smelled good.

“There. That’s the best I can do, for now.” Again her palm skimmed his cheek. “Be okay, hon. You have to be okay. I can’t lose you again.”

He tried to summon the strength to speak, but already she backed away, slid her arms around him, and tried to tug him off the floor.

“No.” He’d meant it to be a firm command, but it came out as a weak protest. He shook his head and managed to lift a hand to her belly. “The baby…”

She reached for him again, but he shook his head, the look in his eyes, he hoped, more forceful than the tone of his voice. He reached upward for the bed’s edge, gripped it, and mustering every ounce of strength in him, he pulled himself up. He’d be damned before he’d allow her to injure herself trying to help him.

Despite his orders, she did help him. And the instant he collapsed into the bed, she was beside him again, checking and rechecking the wounds in his side, where Blackheart’s blade had slipped behind the front edge of his breastplate.

“You need a doctor,” she told him.

He only shook his head and closed his eyes. “Rest…”

“Will you die, Ren? Is it possible?”

He barely heard her. He was slipping into slumber, but she gripped his shoulders and shook him awake.

“I have to know. I don’t understand how any of this works. Tell me, Ren, please, or I’ll drive myself nuts worrying.”

Blinking sleepily, Ren nodded. “I can… die. But only if… I break my vows.”

She stared at him, pain in her eyes, but nodded slowly. “I see.” But she didn’t really. He knew she didn’t.

Then, to Ren’s surprise, she lay down beside him. Snuggling close, her head pillowed by his shoulder, she tugged the covers over them both and wrapped her arms around him.

“Annie—”

“Don’t you dare say this isn’t a good idea.” She threaded her fingers into his hair and stroked him slowly, hypnotically. “And even if you do, I’m not moving.”

Her warm breath bathed his neck. Her cheek touched his chest. He lifted a hand to touch her hair, then lifted the other, wrapped his arms around her, and held her close to him. And it felt as if he’d found heaven, peace, life, joy. God, he didn’t want to leave her. Not ever. And that very thought might condemn him to death. If this injury was mortal, Sir George might not pull him through it. Once the vows were broken, the immortality was lost.

She pressed her lips to his throat. And Ren’s child kicked him in the ribs. He smiled as he fell asleep.

“
Richard
...”

She kissed his eyelids one at a time until he woke and rolled toward her with a playful growl. Then prying one eye open, he glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

“You’re a brat, Annie-girl. It’s only four-thirty. I don’t have to get out of bed for an hour.”

Her smile was slow and filled with meaning. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief. “I know.”

And she traced a little pattern over his chest with her fingertips, then retraced it with her lips.

Ren’s eyes opened wide, and the dream he’d been dreaming vanished. Only it didn’t, really. Because in the dream he’d been lying in the same bed, beside his beautiful Annie. Even now she nestled closer, smiling in her sleep, her tousled hair hiding half her face. She spread her hands against his chest and kneaded his skin before settling down again. Ren groaned inwardly and closed his eyes.

God, he wanted her. He hadn’t believed it was possible for him to ever feel desire for a woman again. But it must be, because it was what he felt.

And he couldn’t let it happen. If he made love with her, it would be the final betrayal of his promise to Sir George. And it would only be harder on Annie in the end, because either way, he’d have to leave her. And if he revealed to her that he did remember, that bits and pieces of their past had been floating through his mind, it would only hurt her more to see him go. Better she believe he’d forgotten. Better he convince her that he was an entirely different man now. If only she could detest him. If only…

She opened her eyes and propped herself up on one elbow. “How are you feeling?”

Miserable, he thought. “Better. You have a healing touch, Annie.”

Her eyes changed, grew smoky, sexy. She lifted a hand toward him. Touched his face. And her desire radiated from her skin and her eyes and bathed him in warmth. He had to close his eyes against it.

Ren rolled away from her and sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. He pretended he couldn’t sense the wave of pain that surged through her. The sting of his rejection. But he did sense it. And he felt like a bullet in the gun of a paid assassin. Moreover, he felt like a liar. He hadn’t wanted to turn away from that look in her eyes.

He cleared his throat. “We should get an early start, Annie.”

“An early start at what?”

God, her voice was soft, injured. He didn’t— couldn’t—turn to face her. “I think it would be best for us to leave here for a while. It will slow him down, give us a bit of an edge, and we need every advantage right now.”

“Leave the house?”

“The house, the town. We’ll make it difficult for Blackheart to find us. He’ll track us down eventually, but it will take time. And all we need is time, really. Just enough time for the baby to be born. Then you’ll both be safe. How long now until you’re due?”

He heard her sigh before she answered. “A month. Four weeks. To the day.”

“I’m sorry, Annie. If I’d defeated him in battle last night, this would have ended. I let you down.”

The mattress moved and she sat up. Her arms slipped around his chest from behind, and her face rested between his shoulder blades. “You didn’t let me down! God, you were hurt! I’d rather fight the bastard myself than to have to see that happen again.”

Ren stiffened at her gentle embrace. In truth, it hurt him more than the blade in his side had. But to move away from her was more than he could do. “You shouldn’t have seen it this time.” He shook his head and searched his mind. “I don’t understand what’s happening, Annie. When the time of confrontation comes, the Hero and his adversary are supposed to be cloaked, concealed from mortal eyes. No one from this side is supposed to witness it. As far as I know, no one ever has.”

“Well,
I
have, Ren.” She sat up straight again and let her arms fall away. He could feel her eyes on him, though. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

He rose and forced a distant expression on his face, the expression of a cold stranger, before he turned toward her. “It was a fluke. That’s all. Don’t read more into it, Annie.”

She flinched as if he’d struck her, but kept her chin high, her spine rigid. “A fluke? Come on, you don’t believe that. It happened because I’m supposed to be with you and you’re supposed to be with me. We’re a part of each other, can’t you see that? We’re only whole together. They’re not going to separate us again. I’m not going to let them.”

Ren wished to God she wouldn’t think that way. “Annie, you’re fooling yourself. It isn’t going to happen. It can’t.”

She was so quiet, so hurt. He knew it. Damn, why did she have to go through all of this?

“So explain it to me,” she said at last. And he knew she was making an effort to sound normal. As if she weren’t cut and bleeding right now. As if he hadn’t hurt her again with his cruel words. True, but cruel. “This… this Blackheart. You know him.”

He nodded. “He’s the strongest knight in the Dark Army. We’ve battled before, but not often.”

“And did you beat him then?”

“Not always.” He saw the hint of fear that crept into her eyes. It wounded him. “That’s why I want you in hiding,” he explained. “I can’t be sure of winning the final battle. And he’s here, watching you.” She frowned and tilted her head. “He could be anyone, Annie.

When knights come to this side they’re cloaked. I have no way of knowing what form Blackheart has taken this time.“

She shook her head slowly. “I still don’t understand. How can you win the battle if neither of you can die?”

“A mortal wound. A temporary death. If I’ve been true to my vows, Sir George will bring me back. If I’ve broken them, he can’t. It’s said Blackheart’s lord will do the same, though I wouldn’t trust that one’s word.”

“My God.”

He looked at her, smiled crookedly, saw the flare of recognition in her eyes, and quickly erased the grin from his lips. “It will be all right, Annie.”

She nodded and got to her feet. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be all right again,” she said, and he sensed the words came from her heart as much as from her lips. “I’ll take a shower, and then we can pack.”

The bathroom showed the stress of having contained pure evil last night. Or perhaps just the stress of holding one panic-stricken mother-to-be. The shower curtain was torn. Had she done that? The medicine cabinet’s door hung from one hinge, and the contents were scattered in the sink and on the floor. Razors, aspirin, her vitamins. Wonderful. Her prenatal vitamins lay on the back of the sink, the cover off, spilled everywhere. And she was sure she hadn’t done that. She sighed and shook her head. Why did that seem like such a big deal? She scooped the little capsules back into their brown bottle, keeping one in the palm of her hand. She popped the vitamin into her mouth, turned on the cold water, and reached for the glass on the edge of the sink.

The glass slid sideways before she touched it. It did a little suicide leap to the floor and exploded into a zillion shards. Damn!

“Annie?” Ren popped his head through the door.

She spit the pill into her palm and dropped it in the wastebasket, grimacing at the bitter taste it left in her mouth. She didn’t remember them tasting so awful. Then again, she didn’t usually hold them in her mouth so long. “I’m okay. Just a little accident.” She could not swallow a pill dry, not one that tasted like that. Instead she screwed the cap on the bottle and made a mental note to take her vitamin later.

Ren met her gaze, scanned her body, frowned at the broken glass on the floor, and nodded. “Be careful,” he said. “Don’t cut yourself.” And he said it as if he really cared. Then he ducked back out.

Her life was turned upside down, she thought. But then she realized that at least it wasn’t depressing anymore. She turned to adjust the water temperature in the shower. Oh, she was scared to death of this threat that loomed in the shadows. And she was dreading the day when Richard… Ren… would try to leave her again. But she felt… different. Alive again. He was here, with her. She’d stopped mourning his loss. She could reach out and touch him, and he’d be there, real and strong and warm. She could talk to him and he’d answer her. Not just in her dreams but in his own strong voice. They had a goal, and they were working together to reach it, working together to thwart this unseen enemy and protect their child, just the way they’d worked together to create it.

Annie couldn’t believe that this all hadn’t happened for some reason. Why had he been sent back here to her? She’d heard him talk about other knights. Why not one of them? Okay, he was the only one who’d ever defeated this Blackheart creep. But she had a feeling there was more to it than just that. Because why else would she have been able to see him as he truly was when everyone else saw only the mask? And why was she the only one to witness that frightening battle? God, couldn’t Ren see that it meant something? It had to.