Ruthless Vows (Letters of Enchantment, #2)(55)

Tobias kept the car going, the wheels churning over the divots in the road until they launched eastward once more. The roadster slipped between the other two hounds, who lost time turning around again to pursue. Their angry growls shook the ground like thunder.

Iris tentatively rose to her knees, one hand clinging to the handle, the other to Attie.

She dared to glance back.

Only two hounds were in pursuit now, the third left behind to flounder in the road. But the pair were gaining on them again, as if wide open spaces and straight paths fed their mythical speed.

This time, Iris didn’t look away. She stared at the creatures as the distance waned once more. And she counted each time Tobias shifted, until she knew he was in the highest possible gear. The roadster was at its top speed; there was no power left for the engine to give them. They were all but flying over the road, and still the hounds came.

Iris stiffened when the hounds lunged forward with yawning, rotten maws. They surged like a tide only to ebb as Tobias drove through a sharp bend. Their pace at last faltered, and they slowed, slinging drool from their mouths along with snarls of defeat.

Still, she would not believe it. She could hardly trust her own eyes this night.

Iris kept her gaze on the road behind them, marked by tires, rutted by storms. She kept her gaze on the shrinking hounds until their hearts winked out, like candle flames being snuffed into darkness.





{24}

What Truly Happened in the Bluff and Beyond




Roman was sitting at a desk when the news arrived. He was in a room on the upper floor of the factory, watching as Dacre paced before a wall of windows. A few of the officers were standing in a group to the left, stoic and silent, and while Roman was waiting for Dacre’s command, he couldn’t deny that, in his mind, he was very far away.

He was in another small room, a cozy chamber in Marisol’s B and B, and there was a host of candles burning, casting soft rings of light along the walls. There was a pallet of blankets on the floor, and a pile of crinkled letters that Roman had read more times than he could count. He wasn’t alone, and he had never felt more alive, his blood singing when he looked at her, when he breathed in the lavender scent of her skin …

The door banged open.

Roman blinked, letting the memory shatter in his mind. He returned to his body where he sat dutifully at the table, kilometers from home, waiting for a god’s command.

Dacre, the officers, and Roman all looked at Lieutenant Shane, who was panting on the threshold despite his perfectly composed salute.

“What news?” the god asked. His tone was impassive, but Roman wasn’t fooled. He could tell Dacre was furious about the foiled attack in Hawk Shire. He was like a frozen lake, seemingly placid until one noticed the hairline cracks expanding across the ice. The dark, frigid water seeping through the gaps, hungry for a drowning.

“Lord Commander,” Shane began hoarsely. “The hounds have returned. One of them is gravely injured. The other two show no signs of spoils.”

“You mean that Enva’s scout got away.”

“It appears that they did, sir.”

“Appears.” Dacre smiled, a cold crescent of a moon. “Tell me, Lieutenant, how does an entire army evacuate before we arrive? How does a mortal girl evade multiple rounds of bullets in a wide-open meadow? How does a motorcar outrace three of my finest hounds, injuring one in the process?”

For the short amount of time that Roman had known Shane, the lieutenant had never failed to appear stalwart and gallant. But at that moment his complexion was waxy and deathly pale; he seemed incredibly young and vulnerable.

“I … I don’t know, sir,” he stammered.

“Then let me tell you how,” Dacre said. He turned and glanced at his officers, who were now standing in a perfect line. “It happened because someone here has betrayed me.”

“If I may, my lord,” Captain Landis said with a bow of his head. The key he wore around his neck shined with the movement. Roman had no doubt the captain displayed it to remind everyone of his status. That he was a member of Dacre’s favored circle with the power to unlock doors. “All of us in this room are faithful to you. You know that we—”

Dacre lifted his hand. Captain Landis hushed, face flushing.

“Someone among my ranks has turned on me,” Dacre said. “Since I woke, you have known me to be a god who heals your wounds and takes away your pains. A merciful and just god who is building a better world for you and your lovers, you and your children, you and your dreams. But betrayal is something I cannot forgive.” He paused, and the words sat in the air like smoke. “All of you … leave me. Now.”

Lieutenant Shane backed away. Most of the officers—the wise ones—also made a beeline for the door while a few others tarried, red-faced and worried-looking, as if they were terrified Dacre suspected them.

Roman rose, keeping Dacre in his peripheral. Quickly, he packed up his typewriter as quietly and unobtrusively as he could manage. He wanted to be a shadow. Unnoticeable. A tiny moth on the wall.

He walked to the door, back ramrod straight and typewriter case in hand. He waited, stiff with dread, for Dacre to say his name and hold him back. For Dacre to pin him to the ground with those uncanny blue eyes and tear the truth from his throat. For him to smell the betrayal on his clothes.

But Dacre had turned, and his face was angled toward the windows and the night beyond the glass. His eyes were on the stars and moon and a city that was full of empty shadows.