The Gravedigger's Son - Darynda Jones Page 0,13
even more confined area, Quentin on his knees and Amber on her butt with her legs drawn up.
“We have to get out of here.” He signed it but also used his voice, the sound barely above a whisper. It was soft and deep and flowed over her like warm water. Then his gaze locked onto hers, and she wanted the water to rise and drown her.
Tears stung the backs of her eyes, and she pressed her nails into her palms again, trying to draw blood. After a prolonged moment, she tore her gaze away and looked toward the corner the demon had scurried into. She saw nothing but shelves of merchandise and art supplies, but she’d felt it when it grabbed her. Read it. Almost lost herself inside it like she sometimes did with her clients. “It’s angry.”
Quentin followed her line of sight and nodded. “I felt that, too.”
“It’s looking for someone. Waiting for someone. Someone it is very angry with.” When Amber looked back at Quentin, he was staring at her mouth. She knew the feeling.
His lips were fuller than most men’s, a masculine shape framed by a healthy dose of scruff a little darker than his hair. He snapped to attention and continued checking her out, running a hand down her back, searching for wounds.
“It didn’t hurt me.”
“No, it only abducted you. We have to get you out of here.” He scanned the area, looking for an escape.
Two small, round windows allowed light in, one in the front of the cottage, and one in the back. But the cathedral ceiling had no other openings. No other routes of escape, even if they could get past the demon’s barrier.
“We need to get back downstairs.” Quentin was signing everything, using his voice minimally. And Amber wondered why, when he was so good at talking now. He bit down, working his jaw, then said, “I had a plan.”
“To get us out?” she asked.
He hadn’t been looking at her, yet he nodded. How? How was he hearing her?
She pulled back the sweater. His neck was still bleeding, so she pressed it against him again. “That salt seems to work well.”
“Yeah, and that was the last of it.” He frowned at her. “You’re ruining your shirt.”
“Sweater,” she corrected. “And I don’t care. Are you okay?”
Her question seemed to surprise him, and he signed, “Always.” He’d said that to her so many times. That exact sentiment.
Will you stay with me?
Always.
Will you be there for me?
Always.
Will you love me?
Always.
And she’d believed him. To the depths of her soul. “It’s hurt.” When Quentin questioned her with a raised brow, she said, “The salt. It hurt it. I felt it. It burned like acid.”
Quentin stilled and asked, “Did it hurt you?” Like he cared. Like her pain meant anything to him.
Remember who he is, Amber. “No. I’m fine. I told you.” She struggled to get up, but he still had an arm around her waist to hold her inside the circle.
He stood instead and took her with him, lifting her to her feet as if she weighed nothing, then kept his hands on her to steady her. “How hurt is it?”
She brushed off his hold. “Very, but it could still attack.”
“We’re going to have to risk it.” He sank onto one knee and signed, “When I break the circle, run.”
“I didn’t think the circle held us here.”
“It doesn’t, but I need the salt.”
“Oh, right.” Her pulse started to pick up speed.
“We need to get into the circle in the kitchen.”
“Okay.” She nodded, feigning confidence. “I can do that. Then what?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Told you. I have a plan.”
She glared. “Well, is it a good one?”
One corner of his mouth crept up suspiciously. “Always.”
She tossed her sweater to the side, readying to run, but reminded him, “You clearly don’t remember the time we skipped school and went to look for the Blue Lady in the cemetery.”
“Right.” He winced. “Okay, besides that time.”
She drew in a deep breath. “Just say when.”
“Now.” He said it so softly, she almost didn’t hear, but the minute he broke the circle by scooping some of the salt into his palm, the demon darted out from behind the shelves.
She panicked and bolted toward the stairs, taking them three at a time, sparing only a quick glance over her shoulder about halfway down. It was the wrong thing to do. She almost pitched forward when she tried to stop. She had to grab the balustrade to stop herself as she looked back.
Quentin stood