Morgan snarled. Caitlin hopped forward on one leg. “And who do you take after, Niall Munroe?” she demanded. “You’ve never been driven by fear for your sister, have you? It’s hatred—hatred of anyone different, hatred and guilt, eating you up inside because you helped put Athena in that chair. Controlling her and calling it protection is the only way to salve your guilt and cage what you don’t understand!”
Her words echoed in the total silence that followed. Niall heard the accusation over and over, hating Caitlin for revealing his shame, sickened by the truth.
And she knew only half of it.
He had to get out, before he disgraced himself further. But he’d be damned if he’d leave Athena in the hands of these people, no matter what Caitlin claimed as his motive. He had never retreated from a fight without some plan for ultimate victory.
Caitlin provided the distraction he needed. As if she had used up all her strength in castigating him, she gave a soft moan and stumbled sideways. Niall stepped in and caught her before anyone else moved, steadied her, and handed her over to Holt. Morgan took her reflexively, leaving Niall free to grab Athena.
She felt almost boneless as he lifted her, and he was certain when he held her in his arms that her legs were not those of a healthy woman. They were too thin, lacking the full development of muscle. She might be able to stand, even hobble, but she was by no means recovered. Perhaps her deception hadn’t been quite as heinous as he had believed.
Niall shouldered his way past Harry and the dwarf and paused in the doorway, Athena rigid in his hold. Caitlin’s presence prevented Holt from following. His yellow eyes tracked Niall with an unspoken vow that the battle was far from over. The world narrowed down to the two of them, a long, red tunnel of hatred that connected them as surely as Athena bore her mother’s bestial blood.
“Listen well, Morgan Holt,” Niall said. “I make you a solemn promise. If you ever touch my sister again, I will kill you.”
Almost tenderly, Morgan passed the half-conscious Caitlin to Harry French and started toward Niall. Athena pushed against Niall’s chest, and her eyes locked with Holt’s.
Niall had no explanation for what followed. Woman and beast-man gazed at each other, and it was as if yet another tunnel linked them, excluding everyone else—a tunnel made of light instead of hate. Athena smiled. She held out her hand, stopping Holt with a gesture as graceful as a dancer’s.
“Please stay, Morgan,” she said. “Look after Caitlin. She needs you now.”
Holt blinked slowly, and the bizarre transformation that had taken him before began to reverse itself. When it was done he was human again, though the shadows under his cheekbones seemed more pronounced and pain pinched the corners of his mouth. Niall hoped that the Change had been excruciating.
He turned his back on Holt, on all of them, and carried his sister out of the jaws of hell.
Chapter 16
At times like these, Athena thought, it would have made perfect sense to weep. But her eyes remained stubbornly dry, though the twisting pain in her legs was a constant reminder that the worst was yet to come.
Niall all but ran down the stairs, charging blindly away from the terrible danger that existed in his mind. At the foot of the stairs he paused, irresolute, and carried her down the hall to the door of Walter Munroe’s study.
The room had been closed up ever since Papa had died. It was dark inside, and smelled of mildew and old books. Athena’s throat ached with the memories stacked on the shelves and in every corner.
Niall deposited her on the dusty leather-padded chair behind Papa’s desk and stood back as if she might somehow corrupt him if he touched her any longer than necessary. That hurt, too, but all the hurts had blended together so that it was difficult to tell one from another.
If she had been able, she would have stood up and marched right back up the stairs to Morgan. But her legs had been pressed beyond their limits, the atrophied muscles seized with spasms, and they would not have carried her as far as the door.