“Who are you?” she asks.
I could strangle her. What game is she playing? “You know damn well it’s me.” Her green eyes are blank. “Rowan,” I say, in case she can’t see straight.
Is she drugged? Her pupils are dilated and I can feel her heartbeat skipping around unevenly. “What did you take, Lillian? Belladonna?”
Nothing. She doesn’t understand me. I’ve never seen her like this before. I should throw her back into that drainage ditch, but I can’t. She’s so weak and there’s something off about her. I run my hands over her face, scanning her body. My willstone throbs to be near her again; her dark river of power flows so close to my thirsty stone. I want to dive into her. I need to calm down and go slowly.
I ease into her and hit a giant wall. I’ve never tried to scan her with this new willstone and it feels awkward, like when you put a favorite shoe on the wrong foot. I’m not her mechanic or her claimed anymore, but I’ve scanned lots of people who are not my stone kin. This isn’t normal. Is she blocking me, or is she blocking herself? Her body is obviously reacting to something—erratic pulse, dilated pupils, hot and cold flashes—but I can’t find what it is. There are no toxins in her system. It almost feels like she’s rejecting the pollen in the air, but how can that be? Lillian’s known how to process pollen since she was a kid.
I need to see her willstone. I trace my fingers down her neck and search for the chain so as not to actually touch her stone. I don’t want to be too tempted. I hate that my fingers are shaking, but I haven’t held her stone since that last time we made love. Memories of her skin, her scent, and her sighs are coming thick and fast. Focus, jackass.
I can’t find a chain. I pass my hands down her sides, feeling the pockets of her strange cotton breeches. It’s not there. Her willstone isn’t on her. I feel queasy. No wonder she’s disoriented—I can’t believe she isn’t screaming in pain.
“Where’s your willstone?” I ask, pitching my voice low to keep it steady. How is she even conscious right now?
“Help me, Rowan? Please,” she says.
She’s never said “please” to me in her life. Whenever she wanted something from me she just took it. What is she trying to pull? It won’t work. Not this time. I’ve always followed wherever she’s led, and look what it cost me. I bet she swallowed her willstone to make herself seem like a victim. Then she runs to the same café I go to pretty much every morning, looking desperate and vulnerable. She’s depending on the fact that I’d do anything to protect her and comfort her. That I’ll fix whatever mess she’s gotten herself into like I always did before. Before she murdered my father.
I’m so angry all I see is a white blur. I stab my finger into the bundle of nerves at the base of her throat, knocking her out. Whatever it is she wanted to get from me by staging this whole chase-and-wounded-bird act, I’m not going to give it to her. I’m not the same person I was a year ago.
Lillian’s body goes limp and for a moment I consider letting her thump onto the pavement. Let her wake up with a couple of bruises. But at the last second I catch her and gather her up in my arms.
Oh shit. I’ve just rendered the Salem Witch unconscious. There’s bound to be a law against that. I glance up the alley. People hurry past on the busy main road, oblivious. So far this little encounter has gone undetected, but that stroke of good luck isn’t going to last much longer. Where is her guard?