Page 12

Chapter

Ten

Grahame

T he swish of Adara’s black hair against her backside had Grahame clenching his jaw.

She’d grown curves in their years apart, her hips round and welcoming.

That damn purple dress she wore pulled to taper her waist in a manner that made him forget how to breathe.

Her limbs had been like sticks when she’d spent the days shepherding with him.

How cruel was it that the shape of her now made him salivate?

Grahame wished he could retreat to his room and shut his eyes against the utter temptation that swamped him when he looked at Adara.

There were decisions to make. He was no leader.

The hasty acceptance of Adara’s betrothal was due to his panic.

He’d needed to stop her from killing Ridley.

To find out about Yrsa’s wellbeing. And the first thing he jumped to was to give in and marry the woman that tormented them?

Idiot.

Behind him, the brute called Hagan was practically breathing down Grahame’s neck while the pleasant blonde had abandoned them, citing her hate for the cold dungeons.

Adara stopped at the end of the hall, took a torch from the wall, lit it on the nearby sconce and hauled on the iron bar across a thick wood door. Grahame tried to hide his surprise when Adara gestured into the gloom. He assumed the big man, Hagan, would take him down.

“Down here,” she muttered as she proceeded into the blackness.

Hagan lit a second torch then Grahame was descending stairs so short they didn’t even cradle the length of one of his feet.

In the torch’s glow, walls of wood gave way to stone and clay.

They pressed in on Grahame. He had to bend his neck so as not to hit his head on the roof.

Some small creature rustled below. He wanted to vomit at the thought of Yrsa down in this hole.

At the bottom, Adara moved to the left. Her shoulders rolled back as if slipping on a different version of herself. Two cells made of bars ran from the floor to the ceiling. There was no light, only clay and stone and iron. Stale air greeted him as he stepped off the last stair.

Yrsa’s voice, gritty with surprise and terror, said, “Grahame?”

A figure hobbled to the bars, filthy hands encircling the thick metal keeping her in place.

“Let him go! He’s done nothing! You cannot keep us here!”

Yrsa’s voice broke on the last word. Grahame was at her side within a stride, wrapping his hands around hers on the bars. They were frozen.

“It’s alright, Lady Wolf. It’s alright.”

Tears glinted in the corners of her eyes.

A filthy, too-small dress covered her, and though she appeared to limp, Grahame quickly realized it was due to the low ceiling.

Instantly, Yrsa flung her hands from beneath his and reached through the bars, pulling him to her.

Grahame shoved his forearms through, embracing her as best he could.

“Keep me, if you need. Grahame has done nothing. This isn’t what we discussed,” Yrsa was saying, her mouth not stopping as she snuggled into him, as if trying to absorb any warmth he could offer.

Fiery indignation scored his middle. He looked over his shoulder to glare at Adara.

“The most she’s spoken the entire time,” Adara drawled, her gaze locked on the cell’s wall, “other than when we made her change.”

“It’s a hideous dress,” Yrsa said against his chest.

Grahame pulled back slightly to look her over.

She seemed to understand because she said, “I am alright. Cold. But they have kept me fed. She comes down every so often. Gods, I’m glad to see you, Golden Boy.”

Tears pricked the backs of his eyes at the nickname. Even in the midst of terror and hopelessness, Yrsa remained herself.

“Good,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Yrsa pulled back, her eyebrows tented with confusion.

Grahame bit out the words of explanation. “I am here as a prisoner as well. Adara—”

“Lady Clayton,” Adara interjected from behind.

Grahame scoffed. She wanted to pull rank while she kept one of his best friends cold and dirty in the dungeons? He would not heed her command.

“ Adara tricked us. We came for you, Yrsa, we did. It took everything in Ridley to turn back to Hyrstow and regroup after we tried to rescue you. I exchanged myself for you, but at the last moment, we were given some poor woman dressed in your clothes. She had your yellow hair and a hood on her head. We couldn’t tell from far away, and by the time Ridley took the hood off, it was too late.

He’s still here, trying to bring down this godforsaken place to get you out.

” Grahame rubbed the sides of Yrsa’s arms to warm her as he spoke.

Yrsa’s face lit with hope and crumpled all at once. She tucked her chin to her chest. “He can’t…”

Adara let out a long-suffering sigh behind them. The light in the small space moved from the left to right as she switched the hands that held the torch.

“You’ve seen her,” she said flatly, “now let’s get on with it.”

The flames flickered again as Adara made to ascend the stairs. Horror gripped Grahame by the throat. He couldn’t leave Yrsa in the cold and dark. She couldn’t remain in such a hellhole alone. He tightened his grip on her.

“You cannot leave her like this,” he snarled, glancing back at Adara.

He was met with incredulity and shadows. Hagan turned toward him.

“Indeed, I can. In fact, I can do much worse. So if you would like to keep her in all the pieces you’ve found her, you will come with me.”

Grahame pressed his nose into Yrsa’s hair. Sweat, piss, and damp earth swamped him. She shivered in his grasp, and he had to force the bile down his throat at the thought of her being pulled apart underground.

“We will come back for you. I will come back. Ridley will never give up.” He sewed the words into her filthy hair. This woman, so like the sister he’d lost, the sister he’d loved beyond measure.

“No, no, no—you can’t. Get out of here, Grahame. Tell Ridley I love him, but please do not risk yourselves for me. He cannot die because of me. He can’t— ”

A sob wrenched from her just as Hagan caught Grahame’s upper arm in a punishing grip, yanking him back. Grahame had to release Yrsa lest he bang her head against the bars by holding on.

“Come now,” Hagan said, as if Grahame were a dog in need of scolding.

He felt like one. Leaving Yrsa in the dungeon to rot twisted something in his soul.

“No. I will stay down here. I will take her place.” His words were frantic as he planted his feet to pull against Hagan’s hold. “Let me stay. Keep her in my room. Please!”

Grahame didn’t know if Adara heard or even cared that he was begging. That he was dragged up one stair before throwing his weight in the opposite direction causing Hagan to stumble, though not enough to break his grip.

“Do that again, and I’ll knock you out. Can’t help anyone if you’re asleep,” Hagan growled.

He had to help. Had to get Yrsa out of there.

“At least give her the torch,” Grahame demanded, wishing he could straighten to his full height, however the low roof made it impossible. Even Hagan had to bend.

“She’ll do something with it.”

“She can barely stand!” Grahame hissed through his teeth. His breaths sawed from him as he shook with rage. “She will not burn down this place of dirt and iron. Allow her some warmth and light, please. ”

Hagan glared at him for so long, Grahame thought he would follow through with his threat to knock him out and drag him up the stairs.

But then Adara called down, “For God’s sake, Hagan, do it.”

The man released him to stomp over to take Adara’s offered torch and give it to Yrsa. He thrust the flame though the bars, keeping his eye on Grahame the entire time, as if knowing a back turned in a dungeon was a dangerous thing.

Yrsa grabbed the torch’s end with both hands and scampered backward.

The light revealed a moldy looking mattress and blanket at the back of her cell, along with a pail and a cup.

She nestled onto the thin bed, holding the torch as if it were a precious gem.

Grahame caught her nod of thanks before Hagan moved, obscuring Grahame’s view.

“Happy?” he asked.

Grahame curled his hands into fists. Yrsa must have seen the murder in his gaze.

“Grahame, do what they say, so you can get me out of here.”

The words held the quiet steel of command.

It was enough to have him draw a breath of dank air to steady himself.

He knew Hagan would throw him in the cell next to her, and they would be no further ahead.

And, as much as the impulse screamed at him to be petty and remain with her, he knew the only hope Yrsa had was for him to be smart.

With a snort, he made his way up the treacherous stairs.

Adara waited at the top, staring down at her nails, as if bored.

Rage carried Grahame on swift feet. He pressed into Adara’s space, knowing Hagan was behind to pull him back at any moment.

Toe to toe with her, he crowded her against the tapestry-lined wall.

Rather than shrink, however, she tipped her head back to stare up at him, grey eyes sparkling.

“You’re a monster,” he snarled into her face.

“And you’ve never figured out how to slay my kind, have you, Grahame Shepherd?” she clucked back.

Hands on her hips, she placed one foot on top of his and ground down. Pain began to ache in the thin bones of his foot, yet he did not throw her off. There was something heady about her touch, even if it was to maim.

“What did you think happened to me after you went about your happy life all those years ago? A monster I became, to deal with men more terrifying than you.”

Grahame couldn’t help but blink stupidly at the slap of her words. On its heels, the heat of anger. He ground his teeth against thoughts of what could have happened to her to mold her into the cold, lifeless woman before him.

Adara simply watched as he tried to keep his face impassive. The corner of her lip ticked upward.

“Ah, now you’re starting to understand. I see the wheels in your head turning.” She pressed a single finger to his chest. “Whatever you’re thinking is much less than I’ve endured, I assure you. You can take comfort in the fact that Yrsa is safe in that dungeon.”

“Let’s get on with it,” Hagan said. The clunk of a lock sounded in the hall.

Grahame pulled his foot from beneath hers. He had no response. No words to fling in her face. She’d effectively stalled his mind with her smug grin. Instead, Grahame turned, unable to face her any longer.

Hagan led him to the great hall where two other men were waiting.

“Thor. Grumb.”

Hagan nodded to the men. The wide, blond one who Grahame had shot his arrow at while he fled on horseback stepped forward. He wore a sly grin. The other wiry man hung back, his hip against the table, arms crossed over his chest.

“We’re to go out to those savages?” the thin man grumbled.

Anger flared in Grahame. Savages? They were calling his people savage after what they’d done?

Grahame stepped forward, his hands balled. The blond one must have seen the murder written on his face because he held his hands up.

“Woah, there,” he said in a lighthearted voice, “step back, friend. We’re here to escort you so you can tell your leader to stop the incessant noise. Will you be alright with that duty?”

Grahame tried to unhitch his shoulders from around his ears. He had to get his head on straight, for Yrsa. For Ridley.

Hagan stepped into his line of vision. The man’s glower was truly something to behold.

“Thor is right. You tell them you saw her. That she is well. Tell them to stand down lest we bring our forces down on them.”

Grahame nodded. He unclenched his fists at his side, trying on a smile.

Hagan gave him a look that told him he didn’t believe him.

Suddenly, the others were at his side. Grahame forced down the urge to shove them away.

He grinned wider and cast his mind back to Yrsa in the dungeons—the true reason why he was there.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They did not bother with cloaks. And, despite the hope that it would be only the three men leading him to the gate, a small force was gathered at the front door, ready to fight if Ridley chose not to back down.

It made Grahame’s head swim. His friends had to trust him.

He didn’t know how, but he had to make Ridley understand that he would get Yrsa out, despite Adara’s treachery.

A memory of Adara’s furious face came back to him.

She was so sure of herself, so filled with hate for him and his kind.

As they trudged through the mud, Grahame knew he would have to ignore that her touch, even to cause pain, was like bringing a stone to life.

As much as he tried to tell himself otherwise, being in Adara’s presence made him realize what a statue he’d become.