Page 2 of Blood Skye (Skye Druids #6)

Chapter Two

Song twisted her hands nervously. It was a show of emotion she only ever allowed when she was alone—especially when in her Devon persona, using the name the elders had given her. But her time was running out. London had given her a narrow window to begin with, and things had gotten complicated with Carlyle and Finn’s arrival the other day. It had put Mason on edge.

Now , he was jumpy. Even going so far as to order the servants to go through the manor and make sure every window and door was locked. She had seen him putting up wards late at night when he thought everyone else was asleep.

She should’ve known Carlyle would come. He was too incensed about his father’s disappearance. And he connected her to it since the elders had sent her to the townhome. She hadn’t been happy about that, but going against the elders wasn’t something anyone dared.

Ever .

Song tapped her forefinger against the silk material of her pajama leg before rising from the bench at the end of the bed. It had been three hours since she’d heard any sounds coming through the door connecting her room to Mason’s . He should be asleep along with the rest of the manor’s residents.

She silently walked to the door and grasped the knob. It didn’t even squeak as she cracked it open and silently slipped into the hall before pulling it closed without shutting it completely. A thick rug ran the length of the corridor, masking her footfalls. She walked as if she belonged in the sprawling, three-hundred-year-old structure. She’d donned so many different disguises and taken so many aliases over the years that it was easy to pretend to be whoever she needed. Being herself was another matter entirely.

She lightly touched the banister when she reached the staircase and then hurried down. A clock in the front sitting room ticked loudly in the quiet of the night. Soft lighting spilled across the floor from small lamps situated here and there on tables and shelves. The main areas were always kept semi-lighted per Mason’s request.

Song’s soft-soled slippers didn’t make a sound on the marble entryway floor. She glanced behind her to make sure no one was there and approached the doors to Mason’s office. It was an old habit, but it had saved her before.

She tried the door and found it locked, which wasn’t unexpected. Nor would it stop her. Between her lock-picking skills and magic, not many fastenings could keep her out. Song pulled out a small, black case from her pants pocket and unzipped it. She dropped down on one knee and inserted the metal tools, opening the door within moments. And she hadn’t even had to resort to a spell.

She tucked the tools back into their case and stowed them in her pocket as she got to her feet. The door handle turned freely this time. She entered the office and quietly shut herself inside. Then she faced the desk.

The ticking sounded louder, but it wasn’t the clock in the sitting room. It was the one in her head. The one telling her that time was dwindling at an alarming rate. She walked to the desk, her gaze scanning the items on top. Mason was tidy, always tucking papers neatly away before he left. Even his pen was back in its holder, waiting for the next time he reached for it.

Song shifted a photo of Mason and his sister, Ferne . She would leave the moment she found what she’d come for, but she knew Mason would see that the frame had been moved and return it to its rightful position. Everything about Mason was organized and immaculate.

Just as she was. But she was that way for a completely different reason. At least, she assumed she was. She didn’t care about Mason’s past or who he was. She had come for one reason only.

“ Where are you?” Song whispered.

It had to be in a drawer. She began searching them methodically, one by one. But not being sure exactly what she had been sent to find made it more difficult. Her instructions had merely said she would know it when she found it, which wasn’t remotely helpful. But she had never failed to complete a mission before, and she certainly wasn’t going to start now.

When she came to the top righthand drawer, it held tight. Thinking it was locked, she once more pulled out her tools, only to halt when she discovered there was no keyhole on the front. That sent her searching for a hidden latch, but she came up empty on that, as well.

Frustration mounted as her internal clock chimed louder. Song put her tools away and studied the drawer. She ran her hand over the handle and along the rest of the desk, feeling for a way in. It was a bust. She sat on one foot, her arm resting on her knee as she stared at the drawer. If it wasn’t a key or a latch, it had to be magic. With Mason’s obsession with locking everything, it was the only thing that made sense.

She placed both palms flat on the drawer’s facing and called up her magic. It filled her palms, warming them as it waited. Song tried a simple spell first. When that didn’t work, she tried another. Unease knotted her stomach—she only knew four. She rubbed her hands together and tried the last two spells to no avail.

Maybe there was more to Mason than she’d first thought. No wonder London was so interested in him. He had a locking spell she couldn’t break, and she wanted to learn what it was. It was a pity she wouldn’t get the chance. She was supposed to be in and out of the estate without anyone ever knowing what she had been sent after. But leaving empty-handed wasn’t an option.

She took a deep breath and reached for her magic again. It moved lightly from her palm to the desk, brushing against it before burrowing deeper. Song waited expectantly, but the lock held. She called up more magic.

“ Looking for something?”

Her head snapped up at the voice. Shock slid through her when she found Carlyle leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb. She had warned the elders he would be a problem, but they’d ignored her. Now , on top of finding the object in Mason’s desk, it was up to her to sort things out.

Carlyle pushed away from the door and strode into the office. “ Cat got your tongue?”

She could only make out his silhouette in the dark room. But even without light, she felt his hostility. Song got to her feet. “ You were told not to return.”

“ Mason —the real Mason —would never turn me out.”

“ What do you think he’ll do when he learns you’re here?”

Carlyle stopped on the other side of the desk. He set his fingers atop it, his body as still as stone. “ I think he’ll be rather interested in what you were doing sneaking around.”

“ I’m not the one who broke in.” Carlyle’s file had told her how powerful he was. What it hadn’t conveyed was how dangerous he could be when forced into a corner.

Because that’s exactly where the London Druids had put him.

She wasn’t privy to all their plans. Never had been. But meeting Carlyle had connected some of the dots. His forbidden sojourn to the Isle of Skye should mean banishment—even death. All because their ancestors had been kicked off the isle by the local Druids hundreds of years ago. London’s hatred of the Skye Druids was legendary.

Which was why their interest in Carlyle was curious. And worrying. They wanted him for something.

“ You’re usually much wittier,” he replied.

She hadn’t meant to be discovered in Mason’s office. Especially not by Carlyle . She needed to think of something fast and turn his thoughts to something else. Song saw movement behind him, thinking it must be Finn . The two were never far from each other.

“ Look out!” Carlyle shouted.

An explosion of glass behind her drowned out his words. Something slammed into her left shoulder before she could drop to the floor. Song glanced behind her to where the doors had been to find shards scattered across the floor and the doorframes hanging by their hinges as three individuals strode inside.

She locked eyes with one of the men, her heart dropping like a stone. He lifted a gun and aimed it at her. She raised her hands and sent out a blast of magic. One of the others blocked her attack as projectiles pierced the air around her. Song dove over the desk, only to be confronted by more of the same.

A large hand locked around her wrist and yanked. Suddenly , she was on her feet and pulled alongside Carlyle through a door she hadn’t known was there. Bullets ricocheted around them, sending shards of wood and other debris into the air. Carlyle wrenched a hidden door open and rushed through it, dragging her with him into the library. He was taller, his legs longer, and she fought to keep up with him. She likely would’ve fallen behind if he hadn’t been holding on to her.

“ Friends of yours?” he demanded.

Song didn’t have time to answer as a blast of magic narrowly missed her.

“ Fuck ,” Carlyle muttered. He released her and whirled as he came to a sudden stop. He threw up a hand, his lips moving rapidly with a spell.

She attempted to follow suit but couldn’t lift her left arm. She channeled all her magic through her right palm, barely discharging the spell before Carlyle had his hand around her wrist once more, towing her after him.

She focused on not bumping into furniture as Carlyle took them through one room after another at an insane pace. Song was breathing hard, a stitch starting in her side, and she’d lost count of the doors they’d burst through and slammed behind them, only for the assailants to smash through them a second or two later. She stopped when Carlyle opened another door and shoved her into a darkened area.

“ Not a fucking sound,” he ordered in a harsh whisper, softly shutting the door behind them.

Song leaned against the wall and tried to slow her breathing. Her ears rang with the sound of guns firing and furniture exploding. She fisted her hands as indignation bloomed. They hadn’t allowed her the allotted time. Why hadn’t they given her the time?

Her thoughts ceased when she heard their pursuers on the other side of the door.

“ They aren’t here!” someone yelled.

“ Look for one of those bloody hidden doors,” came the order.

Song didn’t want to wait around for them to find her. She began turning to walk away when Carlyle caught hold of her again, preventing her from leaving. She couldn’t make out his face in the gloom, but she glared at him anyway. He put a finger to her lips. It was such an intimate act that she jerked back, only there was nowhere for her to go.

He finally dropped his hand and turned his head toward the door, listening. She closed her eyes and did the same. It felt like an eternity passed as the hunters searched the room, spending a lot of time near their door. Thankfully , they never found it.

“ Come ,” Carlyle whispered when the room finally emptied.

She fell into step behind him as he lifted a small torch he’d found somewhere and clicked it on to light their way. The tunnel was narrow, and Carlyle had to shift his shoulders at an angle to walk without bumping the walls. Other passages branched off from the one they walked, but he kept going straight. Through the walls, they heard the concerned voices of the servants who had woken during the attack.

Song had to face the facts. The team hadn’t come for Mason . London already had him right where they wanted him. They also couldn’t have known that Carlyle would be here. This had been about her. The elders were making a point—they so loved to make their points.

But …why? Why hadn’t they given her the time they had set in their deal? And why send the team to kill instead of capture? None of it made sense.

Suddenly , the servants’ voices went silent. Carlyle halted, and she came to a stop two steps behind him. There might not be any more conversation, but they still heard footsteps, though not the light tread of slippers hastily put on after getting out of bed. These were heavy-soled boots—the same kind the attackers wore.

She didn’t need to be in there to know what had happened. The servants had been rendered unconscious, and the intruders were cleaning up and searching. By the time the workers woke, they would be back in their beds, thinking it had all been a dream. If any of them spoke about it later, they would wonder at the strangeness of it all but would likely let it go.

She wiped her face against her right shoulder when sweat dripped from her hairline. One question kept running through her head. Why had London turned on her?