3

Jo froze as she found herself in the strangest place she’d ever seen. Creepy Fairy Forest—complete with twisted trees that looked like they should come alive and try to eat her head.

Now ain’t this a bitch.… I’ve fallen into TV Land and I can’t get up.

And from the looks of it, it was a missing episode of The Addams Family.

Maybe The Munsters.

Definitely, definitely one of the two. Turning a slow circle, she saw nothing but an unending darkness. No color whatsoever. Even her skin was a pale, icky gray. So much for her Eastern European skin tone.

Weird.

This is why Technicolor took over movies.…

A chill wind howled around her, stirring her hair and raising goose bumps on her skin. Wrapping her arms around her body, she stumbled forward, through the night, seeking a way home.

“Selena! Karma!” She paused to listen for them, and heard nothing but the wind. “This isn’t funny! I swear, Karma, Jo’s the bitch here! Not you! I will get you back for this! You have to sleep sometime!”

C’mon, Jo. Wake up.

Just a stupid dream.

Yet, as the seconds turned into minutes and nothing changed, she began to get worried. Scared, even.

All of a sudden, she heard the sound of feet running not too far away. “Lainie? Over here! And bring a flashlight!”

The sound slowed, then turned in her direction.

Relieved, she let out an elongated breath. Until she saw the source of the sound.

Oh hell no.…

They were the rotting refugees from one of those scary zombie movies her cousin Tabitha went to bed watching every night.

Terrified, Jo turned and ran as fast as she could. But as her luck would have it, these weren’t the slow-moving Walking Dead zombies. Oh no …

She got the lottery-winning Resident Evil super zombies, with steroids and Olympic training. One launched itself at her as it tried to bite her. Jo ducked and twisted before she ran in the opposite direction. Frantic, she looked for a weapon, but all she could see was fog and dark, and dark’s first cousin.

Useless!

Next time I have this dream, I want night-vision goggles and a machete! Not to mention a couple of hot bodyguards.

And in all those awful, horrific movies Tabby had forced on her, the one thing Jo had always hated most was the screaming idiot girl who ran helplessly, usually in heels, and didn’t even try to save herself.

But what the hell? There was nothing else to do.

Letting out a blood-curdling holler, she ran, and slammed straight into a hard, unforgiving tree that appeared out of nowhere.

Or so she thought. The black tree wrapped two arms around her and pulled her behind it before it twisted and drew a sword so fast, it took her a minute to process what he was doing. The sound of scraping metal sent an even bigger chill over her.

Her gaze could barely follow as the extremely tall man cut through those things as they sought to kill him and nab her. Man, they were trained. But nothing compared to the guy. He twirled and parried and thrust like some macabre ballerina.

It was obvious he’d been up against them more than once.

Even though it took several minutes, he fought them off with absurd skill and precision.

After they finally lay scattered in the fog around them, he turned slowly to study her. In the lightless ick, she couldn’t make out any detail of his body. At all. Swathed in black on black from head to toe, he reminded her of a killer monk.

Sheathing his sword, he spoke to her in a language she’d never heard before.

When she didn’t respond, he grabbed her arm and growled out more gibberish.

She shoved at him. “Dude, don’t have Babelfish here. No Rosetta Stone. I don’t even know what continent that comes from.”

“Human?” His deep baritone froze her. Ooo, sexy-sounding voice double-wrapped in a gorgeous accent. Nice and soothing, unlike the fierce grip he kept on her arm.

“After my first pot of coffee. Most days. Yeah, I’m human.” She tried to pry his hand off her. “Have you had your caffeine? Daily enema?”

His grip tightened on her biceps as he pulled her away from the bodies.

“Hey! Tall, irritating, and scary, not your bimbo.” She popped at his mail-covered hand. “Want to take it easy on the merch? You break it, you buy it, and it ain’t cheap. I’ve got three dogs to support, you know? Beggin’ Strips are costly. And Maisey’s addicted to the expensive buttered microwave popcorn. And the store brand just won’t do.”

Cadegan had no idea what the woman was saying. While he understood most of the words she used, others left him as baffled as her sudden appearance in his realm. And her sentences were absolute nonsense.

By her clothes, he knew she was from the current human world. But why was she here?

How had she gotten here? While some of the others who called this hell home could come and go, they were sorcerers, Adoni, or other nether dwellers. Humans didn’t have the liberty to venture here without aid.

And whenever a human was sent here for him, he could smell the touch of a demon on them from leagues away.

She was different. While there was something familiar about her, she bore no scent of anything, save humanity.

Kindness.

It was what drew the twisted graylings to her and made them attack. Innocence was the most precious and prized commodity in this hell realm. And it was one that never lasted for long before they converted the innocent.

Or killed them.

Cadegan froze as he heard more graylings and sidhe running for them. Worse than that, it sounded like they had MODs with them. The Minions of Death would give anything for a bite of her pristine human flesh. And they would devour her just to hear her screaming for mercy.

“Stay.” He left her to engage the dark, twisted beings who preyed on anyone dumb enough to be out in the Nachtmore Forest at this hour.

Duw! There were a lot of them who’d detected her, and they seemed to be spawning more by the heartbeat. He ducked a grayling sword before a MOD charged him.

The woman moved forward, toward the fray.

Distracted, he felt the bite of the creature he was fighting. Cursing, he beat it back and killed it an instant before she started running again.

“Halt!”

She froze and held her arms up, away from her sides. “Don’t shoot!”

Why would she think that? “I have no bow or crossbow, lass. They be useless against them, anyways.”

“Okie-dokie, then.” She turned to face him.

Cadegan’s breath caught as he finally took in her sassy features. Tall and thin, she lacked the curves he’d once preferred on a woman’s body. But her face was that of a dark, innocent angel. Her silky black hair and dark eyes reminded him of home. Worse, he held a sudden desire to touch her long tresses to see if they were as silky soft as they appeared. To inhale them for her sweet scent.

Canolbwyntio! This had to be a trap of some sort. That was all that awaited those damned to this never-realm of madness. Neither the human world nor Camelot nor Avalon, this was Terre Derrière le Voile—the dark hole between those worlds where his brother had sent him to wait out eternity. Forever able to see the color-filled realms he could no longer reach or visit, no matter how much power he wielded.

Leave her to them, then, and go.

It was the sanest thing to do. But then he’d gone insane centuries ago.

Now …

Like the ones out to claim her, he wanted her with him. For a bit. If for nothing else, just to ease the loneliness that was his sole companion.

Was a few minutes of conversation really too much to ask?

Damn it to Lucifer’s bloody hell.

And damn him as well.

Before he could stop himself, Cadegan held his hand out to her. “Follow with, lass, and I shall see thee to safety.”

Jo hesitated as she tried to make sense of his singsongy words. “Who are you?”

“Cadegan.”

Man, that was one seriously thick accent on that boy. And it was an odd one, to boot. A peculiar cross that landed somewhere between an Irish or Scottish brogue and thick English. Yet it was nothing like she’d ever heard before. “Cah-who?”

He slowed it down for her. “CUH-doo-gun.”

“Cadegan.” She cringed, hoping she didn’t insult him with her mispronunciation. If she did, he didn’t correct her for it. “Mine’s easy. I’m Jo.”

“Jo. We must to do now. I’ve hit them sick, but we can’t stay. There will be more. There always is.”

This was worse than trying to understand her Romanichal grandmother when she got onto one of her serious Angloromani kicks. “Are you trying to help me?”

“Aye.”

“All right, but I have a shoe, buddy, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Cadegan had no idea what that meant, but it sounded vaguely like a threat. If they had more time, he’d laugh at the thought of such a skinny woman thinking she could do him harm. Or any woman or man, for that matter. But this wasn’t the time. They had to get away before something pinched her from him.

She finally placed her delicate hand into his, and he cursed the fact he wore the gauntlets that kept him from feeling her skin on his. He’d been without a human touch for so long that he couldn’t remember the sensation at all. Not that he’d ever known much.

Still … everyone yearned for some degree of physical contact.

Even the cursed and damned.

He pulled her back toward the dugout that had served as his home since Leucious had imprisoned him here. It wasn’t much. A hutch, really. Yet it was clean and serviceable. Best of all, it could be locked down and sealed to keep the others out, long enough for him to sleep or eat, anyway.

With his powers, he opened the stone doorway and allowed her to enter his home first. “Sorry it’s such a daever.”

“Diaper?”

“Diaper?” he repeated, not comprehending her term any more than she understood his. “Hovel,” he tried again.

Jo smiled as she finally got his meaning. “Same thing.”

“Ah.”

Frowning, she watched as he spread his hand out and a massively huge rock rolled over the opening they’d stepped through. The moment it was in place, ten sconces lit themselves around her, showing her the hobbit hole he lived in. The floor beneath her feet was made of high-polished hardwood planks, while twisted saplings appeared to hold up a curved hand-plastered ceiling over their heads. They also supported a small, raised, second-floor loft where a modest bed was set on a small platform that appeared to have drawers in it, and a washstand. All in all, the place reminded her of an earthen studio apartment. Probably around a few hundred square feet in total.

There was a hearth to her left with a small black cauldron and percolator in it. Two more pots and a Dutch oven hung from mantel hooks. The walls were bare, except for a collection of impressive swords, spears, and axes. And more shields than she’d ever seen in her life. It was only then that she realized she could see color inside here. Unlike the outside that had been in pure black and white.

“Would you be craving for a dibble, lass?”

She returned her gaze to him, then gasped as she realized how much larger he was than she’d assumed. Holy snikes! He had to be well over six feet, with massively broad shoulders. Dressed in a black monk-styled robe and cloak, complete with a rope belt, he was mountainous. He pulled off a pair of chain mail gloves and tucked them into his belt.

When she didn’t respond, he lowered the robe’s cowl to finally show her his face. Her breath caught as she saw eyes so blue, like a clear Caribbean sea, they were electrifying. Unnatural. His dark blond hair was cut way too short. Fierce military style. And while his blond whiskers were a bit long, as if he hadn’t shaved for a few weeks, they weren’t a full beard, nor were they unkempt. It was a sexy mess that added an extremely rugged quality to an otherwise beautifully perfect masculine face.

“Did you hear me, lass? Would you be craving for a dibble?”

If a dibble was a warm Cadegan in her bed, then heck yeah. Sign her up and spam her e-mail! She’d take that and then some.

“I’m not quite sure what you’re asking me.”

A slow, teasing grin spread across his handsome face, making him all the more appealing and delectable. “Food. Drink. Be you craving a … bite?”

Disappointment made her pout. Not the offer she was looking for. She shook her head. “I’m good. Thanks, though.”

He inclined his head before he removed his cloak with a flourish and hung it up on a peg in the wall. Turning back toward her, he hesitated. His unexpected bashfulness was sweetly charming and made him seem almost real.

“So Cade … you’re tall, sexy, swanky, live in a hobbit hole. Anything else I need to know about you? Like is there a Mrs. Giant-Hobbit you share your abode with?”

He didn’t answer, as he appeared to be struggling with comprehension. Instead, he dropped his gaze to her hand. A hunger she couldn’t fathom darkened his eyes. “May I?” he asked hesitantly.

“What?”

Approaching her slowly, he reached for her arm as if he expected her to evaporate. With an unimaginable tenderness, he took her hand into his and closed his eyes as if savoring the feel of it. He bit his bottom lip in the hottest expression she’d ever seen on a man’s face, and cupped her hand between his. His breathing ragged, he led her hand to his cheek and held her knuckles to his skin as if she were a sacred relic. He actually trembled as he mumbled in that melodic language she couldn’t even begin to decipher.

A part of her was terrified by his actions. Was he totally nuts? But he wasn’t threatening her. Rather, he acted as if he hadn’t been around another person in a really long time.

“Are you all right?”

He inhaled her skin an instant before he released her and stepped back. “Sorry, lass. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“No problem. I’ve been on much creepier dates than this. Embarrassing, too, and that was while I was actually awake for them … with witnesses I knew.”

He smiled at that, then went to a handmade cupboard where he poured himself a goblet of wine. Just as he started to take a drink, something slammed into the stone he’d rolled into place as a door.

Gasping in fear, Jo sidled up to him.

Cadegan handed her the goblet. “Set your nerves, lass. Have a dab. I promise you, they’ll not get in here. And never through me.”

She thanked him and took the wine while whatever was outside did its best to make him out a liar. “Can I ask you something?”

He poured himself another goblet. “Aye.”

“What language are you speaking?”

“English, I be thinking.” The way he said it sounded more like Ang-lish.

“Aren’t you English?”

Rage flashed so heatedly in his eyes that she stepped back immediately.

“Sorry, Cade. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

A tic beat in his jaw before he downed the contents of his goblet in one gulp and poured another. “I’m Brythoniaid.”

“That is absolutely beautiful. No idea where it is or why my brain is coughing this up, but okay. I must have been cruising Wikipedia entries again.” She clanked her metal goblet against his. “Here’s to Bri … whatever it is you just said.”

Cadegan laughed at her words, then froze as the sound shocked him. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. At anything. It sounded so strange to his ears.

She was charming him to a frightful level.

And she made him ache for things he knew could never be his. “You might know me as Cymry or … Welsh.”

“Ah! Now that I do know. Explains a lot, actually.… Awesome sauce.” She finished off her wine and set her goblet on his small table. “I always wanted to hit the UK. Must be why my brain’s conjuring this up during my coma state. Now that I think about it, you kind of remind me of the dude who plays the Arrow.… Yeah, I’m seeing the connection finally.”

Cadegan snorted at her gibberish. “If I sound as moithered to you, lass, as you do unto me, I apologize to the cavern’s depth for it.”

“I think ‘yeah’ is the right answer to that. But it’s okay. Comas aren’t supposed to make sense. Right?”

He smirked at her question. “I hate to be the breeder of bad tidings for you, but you’re not sleeping.”

Jo tensed at that. It couldn’t be right. Please be lying to me. “Pardon?”

He gestured around his cave. “This is as real as Bran’s thorny horns.”

“No. It’s not.” This being real made no more sense than anything he said to her.

Nodding, he set his goblet aside.

“I don’t believe you. Prove it.”

Cadegan had no idea how to do that without harming her, and for some reason, that was the last thing he wanted to do. He rather enjoyed her bantering nonsense, and liked the fact she didn’t fear him.

“Well?” she taunted.

A devil grin curved his lips as he thought of a way to prove it and not hurt her. Before he could reconsider it or stop himself, he dipped his lips down to hers and kissed her deep. But he was wholly unprepared for the sensation of tasting her so intimately. For the sensations that kiss would ignite inside him.

Sucking his breath in sharply, he fisted his hand in her silken hair and explored her mouth with a forgotten hunger and longing that resurfaced with vengeful talons. His body came alive with a need so fierce, it challenged every bit of his will to restrain himself.

Duw give him strength.

Jo couldn’t have been more stunned had the man slapped her. But as he held her so close to his lush, hard body while he boldly explored her mouth, she realized just how ripped he was. How incredibly masculine and hot. Wickedly warm, she wrapped her arms around him and held him close, aching for a body she was sure would feel incredible on top of hers.

If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up. Not if he wouldn’t be there with her.

When he finally pulled back, he stared down at her with a bitter ache that made her chest tighten.

“Do you believe me now, lass?”

Reaching up, she fingered his lips as his taste lingered with her. She loved the sensation of his whiskers teasing her flesh. “If I’m not unconscious, where am I?”

He winced before he released her and stepped back. “Hell.”

“No.” She looked around the stark, pitiful cave as those creatures still attempted to get in. “No,” she repeated a little less certain this time. “No. It’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause … I didn’t earn hell.” Suddenly angry, she glared up at the ceiling. “What? You cheat on one stupid little eye test once in tenth grade because you don’t want to wear glasses and look like a nerd, and you get banished to hell for it? Really?”

She glanced back at Cadegan. “Yeah, you’re right. That’s my crappy luck. I knew I should have cheated on my taxes. At least once! But no. I play by the rules, and get screwed. Always. Set your clock to it, folks.” She nodded as she paced the small room. “I do believe you! I am in hell. How perfect is this?”

He snorted at her outburst. “You don’t belong here. You’re right about that. How did you get in, anyway?”

“I tripped on a rug and must have cracked my head on the sideboard and died. How spectacular is that?” She looked up at the ceiling again. “Thanks, Selena! You bitch! I couldn’t even go out choking on a banana split. Nah, I go out stupidly and on a diet, no less. No fair! I should have had French toast, cake and ice cream, and not plain icky diet yogurt for breakfast. Where do I lodge a complaint?”

He laughed.

Until she popped him lightly on the belly. “It’s not funny! My whole life has been nothing more than to serve as a cautionary tale for others. Unbelievable.”

Rubbing his stomach, he stared at her in disbelief. No one had ever treated him so lightly before. “You’re not dead, Jo. You’re in Glastonbury Tor.”

“Like the abbey?”

“In short, aye. This is Terre Derrière le Voile—a realm where things are sent to be forgotten.”

“Yeah, but no one sent me here. I fell into it.”

He scratched at his cheek as he considered her words. “Then you must have stumbled through a hidden access. It doesn’t normally happen that way, but I’ve seen much stranger things than that occur here.”

“Does that mean I can get back home?” she asked hopefully.

For reasons he didn’t want to fathom, the thought of her leaving hurt him deep inside. “Aye, lass. Providing we find your point of entry.”

“Oh, that’s easy. Go left at the darkness and keep walking until you go blind with it.” She held her hand up when he started to speak. “I was being sarcastic.” She frowned at him. “Did you fall in here, too?”

Cadegan wished. “Nay, lass. I was put here, quite intentionally.”

Jo paused as she considered what he was saying. That didn’t make any sense to her. How was he here by design? “For what?”

“It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

She raked a look over his monkish robe that could be ancient or modern. It was very similar to the ones Brother Anthony wore on Sundays for Mass. “How long exactly?”

He hesitated before he answered. “Since Edward the Confessor was king of England.”

Selena would groan at her stupidity if she were here. But history had never been much of an interest for Jo. “So that was what? Fifteenth century or so?”

“I know naught of that, lass. But it was the year of Our Lord 1045 when I was cast into this hell.”

Jo’s head reeled at what he was saying. Was he serious? “For real?”

“Aye.”

“Whoa … that’s ancient.”

He arched a brow at her whispered tone. “How ancient?”

“Thousand years of ancient.”

Cadegan couldn’t breathe as reality sank in and the blood washed from his face. He’d known from his glimpses through the glass that years had passed, and things had changed quite drastically. But this …

A thousand years.

A full millennia.

Bitter pain devoured his heart and choked him as he realized that Leucious had truly abandoned him. As stupid as it seemed now, a part of him had held out hope that his brother would forgive him and return to set him loose.

He hadn’t.

Like everyone else, Leucious had turned his back on him and banished him from his thoughts like some dithering cythral sent to torment him.

You make me flesh skitter! Dor, how could anyone ever love a monster like you? Cadegan ground his teeth as he sought to silence the blind hatred that had haunted him through the centuries. The hatred that had driven him to destroy everything he’d ever held dear.

Everything he’d ever known.

“Are you all right?”

Nay. But unwilling to let Jo know the truth, he nodded before he turned away and fought against the utter despair that shredded whatever was left of his wanged-out soul.

How could Leucious be so cold and unfeeling, after all the wounds Cadegan had taken for him?

After all the good Cadegan had done, it’d been a single act of entitled rage that had forever damned him.

By his own brother’s hand.

How he wished Leucious were here. Just for one final heartbeat as he squeezed the life from him.

Jo watched in silence as the darkest sadness she’d ever beheld came over his features. She couldn’t imagine what he’d been through.

It’s not real, Jo. He’s not real. This is just a dream.

What if it’s not?

Yeah right, she sounded as crazy as the rest of her idiot family. Yet … this felt real. It sounded real and there was no way to deny how he’d tasted.

No dream had ever felt like this. Solid and complex. She could even smell the ashes in the hearth.

Reaching out, she brushed her hand against the coarse wool of his monkish robe. The rough fibers scraped her skin and she felt the texture of the chain mail he wore beneath it.

This was reality.

Somehow.

But one thing made her leery of fully accepting it. “If you’ve been here for a thousand years, how do you understand me?”

He snorted as a glimmer of amusement returned to his eyes. “I don’t, most of the time. Much of what you say is half soaked. But as to why I know this version of English, I can hear your world while I rustle about near the borders. Not to mention, I was born with an innate ability to pick up languages rapt fast.”

“Really?”

He nodded as the hopeless sadness returned to his entire demeanor. “We need to be getting you on to yours, lass. Now, in a minute. But there’s a fright bit of madness about. Best to wait till morning for it.”

“Wow. It’s like trying to decipher Shakespeare or Chaucer.”

Tilting his head, he frowned at her. “Beg pardon?”

“You know? The famous writers?”

“You mean a scrivener?” He held his left hand up as if he was writing on something.

“Yeah. My bad. You totally predate them, don’t you? And have no idea what I’m talking about. Jeez, what don’t you predate?” Then she had another thought. Unlike her cousins, she wasn’t a historian of any kind. Really didn’t have much of a handle on any kind of historical timeline. “So were you a Crusader knight or something?”

“I’m not quite certain what you’re asking me, lass.”

“Your clothes and armor. Were you a monk? Knight? Sword boy?”

“I was a knight.”

“To King Edward … no, wait, you hate the English. King of Wales? Not that I know the names of any, but king of Wales?”

He shook his head as he went to pull out a chair and cushion for her. Now that she looked about, she realized it was the only chair he had. “Would you care to sit a bit?”

“Where are you sitting?”

“Floor be good enough for the sorry likes of me.”

“Your … hobbit hole. I feel bad taking the only chair.”

Removing his sword and hanging it next to his cloak, Cadegan shrugged. “Suit yourself, then.” He moved to sit on the floor with his back to the wall. He stretched one insanely long leg out and bent the other.

Since he wasn’t using it, Jo took the chair after all. “So what do you do for fun here?”

“I don’t understand your question.”

“Fun. You know, that thing you enjoy doing?”

He frowned at her. “There is no fun here. Only survival.”

“Yeah, but when you’re holed up, like now. What do you do to pass the time?”

“Ah. Play tafl, cross, and disiau.”

She loved listening to his speech and thick accent, but dang, it was giving her a migraine as she tried to make sense of it. “Really feel like we need a translator.”

He laughed before he pushed himself up and moved to the small table where an old box was set. He pulled out a smaller box and a worn leather pouch. Jo peeked over his shoulder to see what else the larger box contained. It had hand-carved pieces similar to chessmen. And now that she was paying attention, she realized the entire table was grooved and gridded like a board for chess or checkers, with a beautiful Celtic design over it.

Without comment, Cadegan opened the small box that had wooden pieces marked with Roman numerals. The pouch contained a set of wooden dice that he handed to her.

She fingered them, amazed at their quality and age. “How long have you had these?”

“Brother Eurig made them for me when I was a nibbler … a lad.”

“Brother Eurig? Was he a priest?”

“Monk.”

Gaping, she cradled the worn dice in her hand as she struggled with reality again. “These are almost a thousand years old?”

“Thirteen hundred, more like. I was born in the year of Our Lord a score and seven hundred.”

“720?”

He nodded.

“How old were you when he gave these to you?”

“Eight or so.”

No flippin’ way. She stared at the dice in awe, until his age dawned on her. “Wait … that means you were put here when you were what? Three hundred years old?”

“Aye. Thereabouts.”

Trepidation filled her at that newest disclosure. This can’t be good. People didn’t live that long.

Not naturally.

She scowled at him. “Are you a vampire?”

“You’ve baffled me again, lass.”

“What are you?”

Cadegan stepped back at the sudden fear he saw in her dark brown eyes. A panicked expression that hit him like a blow to his gut. It was ever the same. Everyone feared him. They always had. Even when he’d been a mere lad, the monks and priests had known he wasn’t quite human and had treated him accordingly—like excrement that was best buried before it tainted those around it. But it’d been so long since he was around another that he’d forgotten how much it hurt to be so rejected.

“You are an abomination to God! A cursed bastard! Unfit to be with your betters.”

He winced mentally at the memory of his commander. He’d sworn to himself that he’d never again be so stupid. So desperate. That under no circumstance would he allow another into his world or heart.

It just wasn’t worth the pain that invariably followed.

Though it wasn’t in him while in a fight or battle, he knew it would be best to withdraw from this conflict before she attacked him. No good could come of it. Besides, he was used to solitude. There was no need in learning better now.

“Stay in safety, lass. I shall return come morning and show you the way home.” He used his powers to pull his cloak and sword to him, and quickly left what little cwtch he had, taking only a brief pause to ensure she was secured inside so that nothing could reach her.

In the bleak darkness outside, he stood with his hand on the stone he used for a doorway, and sighed as old memories ripped through him. Only then, it’d been a petite blonde who’d stared up at him in terror as enemies had ransacked her home and conquered her people.

They would have slaughtered her and her family, too. But like a fool, he’d risked his own life to save theirs.

He rubbed at the scar on his chest and pushed the thought away. Like Æthla, the past was long gone.

There was nothing to be done about it, for sure. He’d made his thorny bed. And now he knew there would never be a reprieve for the useless likes of him. This was his eternal reality.

Bitter isolation and the harshest survival.

So be it.

But as he turned to walk through the twisted, gnarled forest where his enemies waited to battle him, he remembered the taste of a warm kiss from Jo, and the sensation of a soft hand in his.

You could keep her here.

There was no way for her to cross over without his assistance. She’d never make it back to the portal on her own.

But as he heard the shrill banshee cries and the sound of night predators searching for blood, he knew he couldn’t do that to another.

He wasn’t his brother.

And unlike him, she’d done nothing wrong. She’d said it herself. She didn’t deserve to be sentenced to this hell.

Wishing himself mortal for the millionth time this day alone, Cadegan transformed to a small blackbird and flew to nest in a tree for the night.

*   *   *

With a heavy sigh, Jo returned the dice to the leather pouch and tucked them and the small box back into the larger one where Cadegan kept them stored. Her heart lurched at his paltry entertainment.

So much for Xbox. He’d probably kill to have something like that here.

As she closed the lid, she scowled at the sight of a bright red spot on top of the wood. It was fresh blood. Glancing around, she saw more spattered drops and a few smears, and realized that Cadegan must have been injured in his fight while he protected her.

Why hadn’t he said anything about it?

And as she stood there, she saw images in her mind of Cadegan alone at the table, playing against his own shadow, for hours on end, as he faced the sparse earthen wall.

Night after night.

How did he stand it? The solitude alone had to be excruciating. No music. No TV.

No conversation.

In fact, she was able to search his entire place completely in less than half an hour. It was the tiniest of homes.

His cupboard held some dried meat and fruit. A few onions, small bowls of dried leeks and barley. Flagon of wine and mead. His old-styled pots were as meager and bare as the furnishings. A few skins on the floor.

Damn.

After climbing the narrow wooden ladder, she stood in the small loft and stared at the twin-sized pallet that said he didn’t entertain others in his bed. Ever. She was actually surprised the tiny thing fit him alone.

The thin mattress was made of straw and covered with a clean, worn linen bedsheet and furs. There was a larger old-fashioned trunk set next to it that contained another black robe like the one he’d worn, along with a leather-wrapped kit for mending his chain mail. A needle and thread. Two white linen tunics and three wool breeches. Three pairs of scratchy wool socks.

Dang, his life sucked. She’d never again complain about hers. It might have moments of supreme misery, but she always had her family around to make her laugh no matter how bad she felt.

Sitting on the bed, she heard a slight rattle. She glanced at the post and found an old wooden rosary, of all things, hung there.

“Guess you can’t be a vampire and sleep with that.”

As she leaned back against the headboard, she realized that it was an ancient shield of some sort. Celtic in design, yet she’d always assumed they used small round shields, like the ones hanging in his walls. This one reminded her more of a long Roman type. And it appeared to be made of solid gold.

“Shiny,” she breathed, running her hand over the ornate engraving on its surface. In addition to the traditional Celtic scrollwork were harps and cauldrons. In the center circle was the image of an oak tree with what appeared to be ruby apples hanging from its branches.

It was the only thing of true value that he owned, and it seemed oddly out of place. And unlike the other weapons, this one didn’t have a ding or scratch on it. It was as pristine as the day it’d been created.

Yeah, okay, in a hobbit hole of oddities, this was the strangest of all.

And none of it gave her the slightest hint as to what kind of creature Cadegan might be. Assuming this was real and not a coma or dream. What kind of creature lived for hundreds of years and didn’t age? Carried a rosary, ate food, lacked fangs …

None of it made sense.

For the first time in her life, she wished she’d paid more attention to her family’s insanity and interests. Those loons could probably not only read the rune writing on his stuff, but they’d know exactly who and what he was. Someone in her family had probably even written a book on his breed.

She pulled the rosary from the bedpost and wove it around her fingers. On the back of the cross, worn Latin words were etched. Pax Vobiscum.… Peace be with you.

Yeah, that was strangely fitting for the quiet man who’d fought off her attackers with terrifying skill and ease. There was a peace to him that went against the violence she knew him capable of.

In that moment, she regretted chasing him away. But then that was what she did. Every man she’d ever been with had hit the door running. Some even screaming as they went.

Especially Barry.

In his defense, she’d been throwing flaming objects at him as she chased him out of her house. But that was another story.

Yet the saddest part? She didn’t really miss her ex-husband. How could anyone be married for five years, after dating for two, and not cry over a divorce? She’d screamed plenty. Had even allowed Selena and Tabitha to make Voodoo dolls of him. And Karma to curse his penis.

But no tears. Not a single one.

What saddened her was the empty house. The vacant areas where his stuff had once been stored. She missed having a body around, especially at night.

I’m broken.

That was why she loved her dogs so much. They didn’t judge her and find her lacking. They never criticized. Rather, they loved her, even when she wasn’t worthy of it.

Of course, they’d love anyone with the opposable thumbs required to open and dispense Alpo and Kibbles.

Yeah. Not wanting to think about the truth in that, she moved back to the tiny washstand that stood beside his chest and washed her makeup off. With nothing else to do, she went to bed and hoped that in the morning, she’d wake up in her own world.

But sleep didn’t come as she lay nestled in furs that held the rich, masculine scent of the most enigmatic creature she’d ever met. It made her wonder where he was sleeping tonight. Surely he wasn’t out there with those creatures.

Was he?

Why do you care?

Jo glanced around the stark, torchlit room and wondered how many countless nights Cadegan had lain here. In solitary agony. And in that moment, she realized why she cared.

No one deserved this.

“Cadegan?” she whispered. “If you can hear me, I’m sorry if I hurt you. And if you can hear me, can you come back? I hate to be alone. Please, don’t leave me like this.”

A tear slid from the corner of her eye as the harshest reality of all bit her. Because she had such a humongous family, she’d never spent five minutes alone. It was the reason she had three dogs.

Her hell was isolation. She couldn’t stand this feeling of being alone, with no one around.

As she wept silently, the shield began to glow and hum. Jo lifted her head to frown at it.

What the…?

Deep in the gold, a blurry male face glimmered.