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“But he’d only learn my name if I told him, right?”
“Right…”
“So I just won’t tell him.” Shrugging, he smiled. “Thank you for the heads-up.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek again, his eyes soft and warm. “I appreciate how much you care, Isa.”
Her heart splintered.
* * *
Silence. Finally.
Calâr rose from the sofa in the living area of the female’s house—Isa of Stone she’d called herself—and stole down the hall toward the nook in which Basil slept.
When Isa shut the door in Calâr’s face, he thought that was it, that she’d try to keep the half-breed from him, and he’d have to resort to more desperate means to steer Basil toward the oracle. She’d introduced herself as Basil’s protector, owing a life debt to him, though from the looks of it, there was more between them.
Whatever she was to the changeling—as long as she didn’t get in the way, Calâr would tolerate her. It was easier for the time being to have her come along, and to use gentler methods on Basil to get him where Calâr wanted him. Once there, getting rid of the female would be child’s play.
They talked for a bit when she allowed Calâr to enter her home, and agreed to start their journey toward Nornûn by the first light of morning. If it had been up to Calâr, they’d have left right away, but as it was only shortly after midnight, and Basil hadn’t slept, Calâr had not argued too much against staying until morning.
Just as well. Casting a spell on someone was a lot less difficult if the person was asleep. He might not get a better opportunity than now.
Standing over Basil’s bed, his pitiless gaze on the half-breed’s slumbering form, he smiled and called on the intricate magic to weave into his mind.
Chapter 18
Doing yard work, Rhun found, was a most excellent way to distract himself from a problem. Even one as large and looming as how to get Merle to cancel the fucking deal with Arawn and send Maeve to the Demon Lord.
That stubborn—he yanked out a weed—big-hearted—he hauled out another—damnably caring witch of his. He threw the weeds on the ground and trampled them for good measure. He’d have to hog-tie her after all, wouldn’t he?
Blinking at the morning sun, he weighed the risk of Merle hating his guts for the rest of their lives if he forced her to surrender Maeve, versus losing their baby. Damn it, the entire mess didn’t even make sense.
Maeve was promised to Arawn anyway, and sooner or later he’d claim her, and Merle would have to let her go. So why not give her up now? Keeping her around for a few months longer…it was not worth risking the life of their baby.
He jerked out another plant that didn’t belong. He’d always been a fan of ripping off a Band-Aid in one second instead of sloooooowly peeling it off over several minutes. It has to be done, it’s inevitable, so let’s get it over with.
“Uh, Rhun?”
He turned toward Merle’s voice, saw her standing on the back porch, her eyes still red from crying. Fuck if that sight didn’t punch him in the guts and shred them for good measure. If he could take her pain and make it his instead, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He enjoyed verbally sparring with her, but this? Fighting with her about Maeve bruised her soul, and he hated himself for it.
“You’ve got a visitor,” she said.
Frowning, he looked behind her to the door leading into the kitchen—where Maeve appeared. She nodded at her big sister, and Merle kissed her on the cheek.
“I’ll be in the library,” Merle muttered and went inside.
Rhun blinked at Maeve, tilted his head. “You’re here to see…me?”
In all the months since he helped rescue Maeve, had lived here in the old Victorian with Merle—Maeve having moved to the Murrays’ because she hadn’t been able to be around Rhun without having a panic attack, what with him being of the same demon species as the bastard who tortured her—Maeve had never truly talked to him, especially not alone. In fact, he couldn’t recall that they’d ever been in the same room without someone else present.
He understood, of course. He’d seen first-hand what that fucker of a demon did to her, and in his darkest moments, images of Maeve’s bloody, beaten, sliced-up body still flashed across his inner eye, rivaling the gruesome memories of his sister’s death.
Maeve nodded and pushed her hair behind her ear, then froze. Looking down, she pulled her hair back over her face again. But it wasn’t enough to hide the nasty scar running from one side of her chin and over her nose to the opposite temple.
Rhun gritted his teeth. He wanted to kill that motherfucker again so badly, his whole body hurt.
Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself, made sure his voice was gentle when he spoke. “What can I do for you?”
“Accept my apology.” She still sounded so husky.
