Page 58 of The Dead Saint

Finally, Sorcha stumbled away, slipping on the damp grass and clutching his cloak to her waist. He watched her, waiting until the firelight touched her—catching in her damp hair—her figure haloed in warmth.

Magnus watched her silently as she made her way to the tent they shared.

Adrian let out a breath, scrubbing his hands over his face. There would be questions. Sorcha hadn’t brought the relic back, and they’d have to decide to try for it again or move on. He wasn’t sure he could watch her disappear into the lake again. But he would never go against the commands of his prince.

* * *

The night had been long. Sorcha had slept with her back to him, her soft, even breathing filling his head. There had been almost no space between them. He could have touched her; he could have rolled her beneath him and forced her to open for him. To take something she’d almost offered. But that would be a mistake. She’d clouded his thoughts so much already. The desire to touch her, to feel her mouth on his, to touch every part of her, was a dangerous distraction.

Adrian had risen before the sun and began to break camp as soon as it was light enough to see. It wasn’t long before the others were awake and taking care of their tents and horses, preparing for the long ride south.

Sorcha woke as the cooking fire was put out. A bowl of cooling porridge on a canvas stool outside the tent for her. She’d reached out for it—a long bare arm visible for a moment—and retreated to the interior to eat in peace.

He hadn’t rushed her, letting her eat and prepare for the day at her own pace. The men were impatient, rechecking the bundles on their horses, stepping away to take care of personal needs one last time.

Finally, Sorcha emerged from the tent wearing head-to-toe crimson—a simple riding dress and her fur-lined cloak, the soft red leather gloves in one hand. He glanced at her, taking in her dark, loose hair around her shoulders, and vibrant green eyes. She tended to wear her hair in a loose knot at the base of her skull or wrapped in a scarf beneath the hood she kept up to shadow her face as they rode.

“We’ll go south and west from here.” Thompson waved two rolled maps—one in each hand—as he came to stand beside Adrian. “There are no caves marked on the map created over the last year by the prince’s cartographers. But her skin promises it will be there.”

Her skin.

Adrian hated the idea that this map was a part of her—a part everyone in the party consulted and referenced at all times. Mine. The thought shocked him. She wasn’t his, far from it, and this was just another example of his private desires crossing over into the life he’d chosen as the prince’s personal killer. There was no room for her in the decisions he needed to be making as the Wolf.

He turned, positive he felt her gaze—warm between his shoulder blades—but her eyes were somewhere else.

“Lacus!” Sorcha called, dropping her gloves and running for the lake’s edge.

Adrian moved toward her, wanting to stop her from returning to the water. If she slipped beneath the surface again, he knew she wouldn’t survive. But even as that fear expanded in his chest, it died.

A creature made of stone was rising above the surface, holding the golden bones of the Saint.

An arm attached to a hand, gold and covered in jewels. The rising sun caught it, piercing through the trees in shafts of warm light. A bird stopped singing; the wind died down.

The creature held it out for her to take, and he could see from here that she was crying. Tears slid down her cheeks, catching in the morning light. He was too far away to hear what they said to each other—their voices disguised by the lap of water on the shore. When she smiled, it sliced through him, leaving him gasping, a knot of anger and frustration in his chest that it wasn’t him she was smiling for.

“Prince Eine will be pleased we didn’t have to drown his witch to get the bone,” Revenant said, adjusting his sword belt. Adrian made a noise of agreement without taking his gaze from Sorcha. Revenant pulled his gloves on and asked, “Are you?”

Adrian broke his gaze away from the strange pair at the water’s edge, turning to his second-in-command with a question in his mouth. But he stopped, finding Revenant’s eyes intent and fiercely cold.

“Is everyone ready? There will be several days of travel ahead before we reach the sea.”

“Packed and ready.” Revenant jerked his chin at the strange pair by the water. “As soon as the witch brings that cursed bone here.”

“Unpack the velvet for the relic.”

Revenant nodded and turned back to where the rest of the men were double-checking their gear before mounting up. Domenico was already unpacking the velvet and canvas sacks they’d brought with them to transport the relics. The others watched the stone creature with flat expressions—neither curious nor disbelieving. A few had hands on the hilts of their swords, but no one moved to draw their weapons.

They all watched as the creature disappeared into the lake, and Sorcha walked slowly up the rocky beach toward them. Magnus and Domenico met her with the velvets. She hesitated before passing the relic to them, hands lingering even as they stepped away from her. His heart beat more quickly when she began picking her way toward him, tears lingering on her cheeks, face flushed.

“How far until the next relic?” she asked, moving past him without stopping.

“A few days’ ride,” he said, falling into step behind her.

“Maybe this next one won’t try to kill me.”

Adrian didn’t respond. Each location so far had been dangerous. Even the pieces they’d collected before finding the oracle had come with a price. Not for a moment did he believe it would get easier from here.

Abruptly, Sorcha stopped, her back straight, shoulders pulled back, resignation and determination in every line of her body. She let out a sigh before glancing at him over her shoulder.

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