Enchanted Guardian. Sharon AshwoodЧитать онлайн книгу.
barely a ripple creasing its surface. And then he had beheld the Lady of the Lake, sitting in the prow and wrapped in a cloak of gray, her long white hair unbound and flowing like a second cape. All Lancelot’s cares had melted away beneath a wave of dumbstruck awe. He’d never seen a fae before. After Nimueh, he would have sworn he’d never seen a female. She’d eclipsed every woman before and since.
And here she was again, at her best in defense of someone she cared for. The trials she’d suffered hadn’t changed this one essential thing. This was the lady he knew.
“A human won’t survive the loss of her soul. The pain alone—” Nimueh broke off, leaving Dulac to imagine what she might have suffered the night before. “The pain alone will rob her of reason. Fae sometimes keep their victims alive for days, drinking them a sip at a time so they can savor the rush of sensation. Death will only be the last torment this young woman suffers.”
She stood with her fists clenched as if holding something back with sheer will. Dulac would have called it grief or fury, but she would deny emotion and he didn’t know what to believe. He would reach her far more easily with a practical solution. “Where is the White Hart?”
“Across town. It’s near an abandoned house the neighbors say is haunted. I would say it’s haunted by rogue fae and we should start looking there.”
“Wouldn’t that be the first place Susan’s friends would go? It’s an obvious hiding place.”
Her face was set and pale. “All the more reason to get there first. We will survive an encounter with hunters. Ordinary humans will not.”
The “we” wasn’t lost on him, but he kept his expression cool. She’d given him an opening and he wouldn’t ruin it by spooking her now. He pulled out his smartphone—as marvelous a device as anything Merlin had ever dreamed up.
“What are you doing?” Nimueh asked, almost with suspicion.
Lancelot tapped his contact list. “I have a few friends who jump at any chance to rescue fair maidens. They would never forgive me if I kept this all to myself.”
The Price House, also known as the most haunted house in Carlyle, looked precisely the way Nim would have expected. It dated from gold rush days and had three stories fronted by an impressive porch. Time had left it sagging, with much of the ornamental scrollwork rotted away. Even in broad daylight, the place looked forbidding.
She parked her Audi S3 sedan down the block. Lancelot sat in the passenger seat, his long legs looking cramped despite the roomy interior of the sedan. She studied his handsome profile for a long moment, wondering at his ability to overset every plan she made. If he’d shown up at the bookstore an hour later, she might well have been on her way to the airport. Instead, here she was miles from where she had intended to be and sitting outside a supposedly haunted house containing an unknown number of murderous fae.
“What now?” she asked.
He held up his smartphone, reading what looked like an entry from an online encyclopedia. “It says here the original owners were great collectors and after their death the house was turned into a museum. Then it went bankrupt and was sold to a land developer who in turn lost all his money in the economic downturn of the 1980s.”
“I’m not sure how that helps us.”
“Neither do I, and yet there is something bewitching about the amount of useless information these little devices can provide.” He tucked the phone away, his movements as graceful and precise as a hunting cat’s. The closer Lancelot came to a battle, the more he took on the predatory aura of a lion. She knew without asking that he anticipated a fight.
“I’m going to look around,” he said, getting out of the car. “My friends have to cross town. They won’t be here for a few minutes.”
Nim stayed where she was, the experience with Tramar chaining her to her seat. “Be careful.”
Lancelot circled the car and opened her door. “I know you want to keep out of sight of the other knights, but until they arrive you’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you alone on a deserted street.”
He was correct. Many of the knights knew her face, and she didn’t want gossip leading the queen her way. Furthermore, Nim didn’t want to leave the safety of the Audi, but she accepted his large, strong hand and got out of the car. As soon as she was standing beside him, she knew it was the right decision. He was a knight, and his physical presence was as good as a shield—but more than that, he radiated the will and confidence she couldn’t seem to find. Everything would be better with him by her side.
The house was on a large lot, but it was one of a row of vacant, crumbling places waiting for bulldozers. The opposite side of the street was nothing but empty fields, and the White Hart the nearest business beyond that. It was little wonder that the fae had chosen this place—there were no neighbors to speak of for several city blocks, and yet there was hunting enough in the crowded apartment complex a bare mile away. There was privacy and opportunity both.
As they drew near their target, Nim stretched her magical senses, probing for signs of life. It was only after a fruitless attempt that she remembered her magic was bound. Stars! A sense of helplessness sucked the breath out of her. She was safe from detection, but she had no more power than the victim she hoped to rescue. Sure, she could undo the binding, but then she’d be visible again and waste the value of LaFaye’s amulet. Nothing seemed to be a good solution.
She reached instead for the Smith & Wesson tucked at the small of her back, touching it for reassurance. Her other hand reached out, her knuckles brushing the folds of Lancelot’s coat for the same reason. He made her feel physically safe.
Lancelot was a consummate fighter, the best anyone had ever seen—even from the moment he arrived outside her castle in the Forest Sauvage. Mortals had sometimes wandered by her lake, and she’d given them a meal and a bed for the night. Lancelot had repaid her hospitality with a demonstration of his fighting skills. It was all he’d had to offer.
It was then she’d seen something special in the young knight with the bad armor. As a noble, it had been her prerogative to offer him a place in her household. She’d given him a fine horse and fine weapons, taught him languages and educated him in the ways of the court. By the time he’d left her, he’d been a paragon of chivalry.
They had not become lovers at once. Not, in fact, for some time. She was a creature of the mind, given to books and spells and slow to trust the needs of the flesh. But while she’d shown him the intricate world of the intellect, he’d guided her to the blazing fires of mortal passion. She had learned the difference between existence and life.
No, Nim corrected herself, Lancelot was far from safe, for she’d never been content with anyone else ever after.
He stopped, catching her hand. Nim’s thoughts returned to the here and now and the moldering mansion straight ahead. The broken windows looked down at them like squinting eyes.
“Won’t there be guards watching the street?” she asked, although as soon as she said it, she guessed the answer. These weren’t LaFaye’s personal assassins. These fae weren’t even professionals—these were trash. Soul addicts tended to hunt at night and sleep off their fevered madness during the day, oblivious to anything but the rush of stolen emotion.
“We’ll soon find out if there are sentries,” Lancelot replied lightly. “I see a single front entrance. I’d like to find out what’s in the back.”
With that, he glided down a crooked wire fence that ran between the derelict houses. Nim followed, careful not to lose her footing on the lumpy ground. There was a garden at the back that had been swallowed by a tangle of wild blackberries. Lancelot crouched in the long grass, pulling Nim down beside him so he could keep his voice low. “Two exits at the back. One looks like it leads into the cellar.”
A figure passed before a main-floor window.