Stephanie Laurens - On a Wicked Dawn

She flung her arms wide on the words — and glimpsed something from the corner of her eye. Until he'd stepped close, Kirby had blocked her view of the path into the clearing; looking past him, she saw Luc, standing motionless at the clearing's edge, his dark gaze locked, not on Kirby, but on her face. On her eyes.

For one instant, time stood still. Her heart contracted; she felt…

Kirby read her face.

He turned with a roar.

Amelia jumped, gasped, skittered back as Kirby flung himself at Luc, one huge fist rising, swinging.

She screamed.

Luc ducked at the very last minute; she didn't see what happened, but Kirby's body jerked, then the big man bent forward, only to straighten abruptly as Luc's fist connected with his jaw.

She winced at the sound, quickly scuttled farther away as Kirby staggered back. The close-packed trees gave her little room to move, but although Kirby's gaze flicked to her, he kept his attention on Luc.

Who, after one glance at Amelia, stepped into the clearing. That one graceful step held immeasurably more menace than anything Kirby had done.

Kirby groaned, slumped, then straightened; a knife flashed in his fist.

Amelia gasped. Tensed.

Luc stilled, his gaze on the blade, then he resumed his slow, prowling approach.

Kirby crouched a little, spread his arms wide, started to circle.

Luc drifted aside.

Amelia pressed back among the trees… a too-recent memory of Amanda with a knife at her throat flooded her…

Kirby lunged with the knife. Luc weaved back, just out of reach.

Horrified, Amelia stared — Kirby was quite plainly aiming for Luc's face. Her husband's beautiful fallen-angel face. A face Luc himself barely noticed, and certainly — contrary to what Kirby was imagining — felt no vanity over protecting.

She was very attached to that face — exactly as it was.

Jaw setting, she glanced around. Her gaze fell on a fallen branch — a nice, stout oak branch — large enough for a cosh, small enough for her to heft — best of all, close enough and free of debris so she could lift it undetected.

Kirby's back was to her. The branch was in her hands before she'd finished the thought.

She paused, gathered her strength, took one step as she lifted the branch high—

Kirby sensed her, started to turn—

She brought the branch down as hard as she could. It broke with a satisfying crack over Kirby's head.

He didn't go down. But he wobbled.

Very slowly shook his head.

Lips grimly set, Luc stepped forward, caught Kirby's wrist, holding the knife at bay. With his other fist, he delivered the coup de grace —Kirby dropped like a stone to the leaf-strewn ground.

Clutching the remnants of her club, Amelia stared. "Is he…?"

Luc glanced at her, then bent and removed the knife. "Unconscious. I don't think he'll wake for a while."

In the distance, they heard voices, calling, coming nearer, yet here and now, there was just them.

And the silence.

Still ringing with all she'd said.

She frantically replayed all she'd gabbled to Kirby — how much had Luc heard? He could have been there for some time… but he couldn't possibly believe… think she believed…?

She dropped her club, pressed her hands together, cleared her throat. "I—"

"You—"

They both stopped, gazes locking — locked. She felt like she was drowning in the intensity of his eyes. Her lungs seized, as if she stood teetering on the brink of… happiness or despair, she wasn't sure which.

Stiffly, Luc stepped nearer, reached for her hands. Then he sighed and hauled her into his arms. Crushed her close. "I want to shake you for running off alone into danger." He growled the words into her curls, his arms an iron cage about her.

Then she felt his arms ease.

"But… first…" He drew back, looked into her face. "I have to tell you something — something I should have told you long ago." His lips twisted. "Two somethings, if truth be told. And they are the truth — the real truth." He drew in a breath; his eyes held hers. "I—"

"Hroo-hroo! Hroo !"

Luc turned; they both stared. "Damn!" Releasing her, he faced the path; a steady crashing and rhythmic thudding were rolling toward them. "They've let the dogs out."

On the disbelieving words, hounds came bounding up, a veritable tide, joyous and excited, thoroughly delighted to have found their master. It wasn't just a few dogs, however, but the entire pack. Luc stood before Amelia; clutching the back of his coat, she pressed close, not frightened but in danger of being batted off her feet by so many whipping tails and bumptiously overjoyed canines.

"Down!" Luc thundered. " Sit !"

Eventually, they did, but clearly believed they were due a great deal more thanks for having acquitted themselves so well.

Luc had just restored some semblance of order when the human tide descended. Portia and Penelope, more familiar with the woods, led the way, running and ducking branches ahead of Lucifer, Martin, Sugden, and a disgusted Simon.

They were all out of breath when they piled into the clearing.

"You got him!" wheezed Portia, one hand clutching her side.

Luc glanced briefly at Kirby, then Amelia, then he looked at his sister. "We did." He continued to look at Portia. "Who let out the pack?"

"We did, of course." Penelope's tone stated that the decision had been fully evaluated and only a fool would dare challenge it. "They all reached the first fork, and didn't know which way you'd gone. The dogs were the only way to trace you."

Luc looked at her, then sighed. Patsy pressed close, pushing her nose into his hand, whining with quiet joy.

"What's the story, then?" Arm braced against a tree while he struggled to catch his breath, Martin nodded at Kirby's slumped form.

Luc looked down, then shook his head. "As to that, I'm not sure — but his name's Jonathon Kirby… and I understand he's acquainted with Edward."

Which, of course, told Amelia just how much of her tirade Luc had heard — all of it. She was still wincing at the thought when, hours later, she finally climbed the main stairs and headed down the short corridor to their rooms.

Dawn could not be far off.

Getting back to the house had proved an unexpected effort, not least because, with the villain caught and answers to all their questions doubtless to come, the determination that had fueled them all night abruptly waned. They slumped. Their feet dragged.

Luc dispatched Sugden, Portia, and Penelope to return the pack to the kennels. They went ahead, the hounds still alert, ready to dash off after anything at the slightest excuse.

Kirby, roused ungently, was too groggy to walk unsupported. Martin, Lucifer, and Simon took turns chivying him along in Luc and Amelia's wake; Luc was the only one who could lead them unerringly through the woods back to the Chase.

They'd arrived half an hour earlier to questions and exclamations. Portia and Penelope had said only that all was well before continuing to the kennels to help Sugden quarter the pack.

It was Helena who, in matriarchal fashion, eventually took charge. She pointed out that Luc himself was the local magistrate, that apparently there was a perfectly sound cellar below stairs in which Kirby — unanimously referred to as "the felon" — could be incarcerated for the time being, until they wished to question him further, and that, meanwhile, they all needed their rest.

As usual, Helena was indubitably right, yet Amelia hoped that before she and Luc fell asleep…

She didn't actually know what he wanted to tell her. Not absolutely. Yet entering her private sitting room, she was all but floating on her hopes and dreams. Two things, he'd said. In her heart, she knew what one of those things was.