The woman snorted, which sent her into another coughing fit. “N-not funny. Oh, ow. I’m going to hurt for weeks. I never should have let my gym membership expire.”

  She attempted to stand, but her knees folded and she plopped almost on his lap. He folded his arms around her and held her still. Her clothing felt rough, soaked through, but beneath it the warmth of her seeped into him. He resisted the urge to stroke her hair. Her skin. He ducked his head and took a deep breath, smelling the faint hint of wildflowers beneath the briny scent of the lake. His eyes tightened and burned, no doubt dis-pleased by his return to the water that had taken his sight.

  “We have medicine back at the Citadel that will help,” he told her.

  “The Citadel. You mean I ended up at West Point?”

  “We are nowhere near the western point of this realm.” Keane might need Clara to translate for him. Her sister’s vocabulary was so…odd. “I am sure what you need is rest and dry clothes, but we need to get moving. Dracha’s men will have no doubt seen your arrival.” He rotated his injured arm as stiffness began to set in. “They will come looking for you. This we do not want.”

  “Dracha.” The woman muttered under her breath. “I’ve heard that name before. That book Clara was always going on about when we were kids. The book Elya showed me in the—”

  “Elya?” Keane gripped her shoulders and spun her around to face him. His fingers brushed her face. His eyes flickered and for an instant, he swore he saw…. Keane shook his head, dislodging the thought. Now wasn’t the time for hallucinations. “You saw Elya? She lives?”

  “Well, I met an Elya.” She shrugged. “Last I saw her she had about a thousand books landing on her head, so who knows what…happened. Your eyes are white. You’re blind.”

  As her fingers brushed feather light against his cheek, the constant pain in his eyes, in his head, eased. He sucked in a breath and flinched against a blinding flash of light. As he blinked, for an instant, he saw her: fully and completely. A round, full face framed by tight red curls glistening in the flower-light, and gold-flecked golden eyes that sent him soaring into the past. “Shona.”

  “Not hardly,” she muttered as her face faded from sight again. “Nellie. Shona’s my mother. Well, she’s the woman who gave birth to me. I wouldn’t exactly call her a mother. What do you know about her? Geez. I’m babbling. Hot guys make me babble. Lord, someone stop me.”

  Keane’s soul screamed. What did he know about Shona? Only that he and Bowen and Rivalin had disobeyed their orders in the hopes of protecting the Goddess’s only remaining child. The child Dracha was determined to kill once and for all in his final act of vengeance against the Goddess Alastrine. Keane and his three best friends had hidden the girl where—and when—no one would ever be able to find her. “Nell-ee.” Her name felt like a balm on his stinging lips.

  From the moment he, Bowen, and Rivalin had accepted their punishment to be banished to the Forgotten Realm, Keane had focused whatever energy he had in defeating Dracha and protect his own world. The world duty dictated he leave behind. The world Keane knew he’d never see again.

  “We must get you someplace safe.” Pushing thoughts of the Goddess’s daughter aside, Keane pushed her hand away and plunged himself back into the grey shadows in which he lived. Bowen was right. Elya was alive and plotting, which meant they probably had even less time than Keane had counted on. If the sorceress found her way back to Dracha before he signed the treaty with the resistance….

  Keane shoved himself to his feet and hauled Nellie up with him. The sooner he got her back to her sister, back to the protection of the Citadel, the sooner he could finalize plans for the summit. His side burned; his insides tightened.

  “Hang on there. Give me a second.” She wrenched her arm free. “I’m tired of being man or woman handled. Are you going to tell me where I am or not?”

  “When we are safe.” Would it not be better to have all this explained by someone she trusted? By her sister? As the shadows in his vision closed in again, he saw her rub at her arm. “Did Elya hurt you?”

  “Not really. She tried to hitch a ride to…wherever this is. And are you blind or not?”

  Keane caught her wrist as she waved her hand in front of his face. “Nearly.” He moved in and heard her breath catch in her chest. The sound shot straight to his groin and had him wishing they had more time to explore more than niceties. Something about this woman elicited every protective instinct inside of him and aroused the rest of him. But he could see potential doors opening before him. He couldn’t be certain, not until he heard Clara’s story. Bowen’s arrival with Nellie’s sister at the Citadel had coincided with Nellie’s fireball entrance into the Forgotten Realm. There hadn’t been time to decipher information of any kind other than to reveal to his brother-in-arms that he was, indeed, alive after being presumed dead at the jaws of the Cherellean. “You and Clara are not of this world.” And yet…. “But you are of Shona.”

  “According to my father and I believe he’d know. You’ve seen Clara?” Excitement and relief vibrated in the air. “She’s here? She’s okay?”

  “She is under my and Bowen’s protection.”

  “Wait. Bowen. As in the three warriors?” Her arm relaxed beneath his grasp. “That would make you either Rivalin or—”

  “Keane. Warden of the Southern Realm.” He shifted his hold to clasp her fingers in his palm and lifted her hand to his lips. He smiled at the sharp intake of breath when his lips touched her skin. The sound hit him straight in the heart and melted through him. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Nell-ee.”

  “Uh-huh. I bet you say that to all the drowned rats you pull out of that lake.”

  “Drowned…rat?” The bubble of seduction burst as he frowned.

  “Consider it self-deprecating humor. And as appealing as the idea of a lakeside make-out session with a hot stranger is, you said something about Clara? Where is she?”

  “At the Citadel.” He loathed what came next, but he set his pride aside. “But I will need your assistance to find our way back.”

  * * *

  Leave it to her to take the blind leading the blind thing a bit too far.

  She may as well be tromping through a lost rain forest of the Amazon for all the information she had. Trees that moved? A sky without stars? No moon in sight? Where on earth was she, anyway? And how had she gotten here? Magic? Hallucinogenic drugs? More importantly, when had she turned into a flirt?

  On top of being soaked to the skin under wet wool and a too-tight skirt, she’d been babbling almost non-stop. She rubbed her fingers against the raw welt around her wrist, the mark Elya had branded her with back in the store, and tried to focus on the pain rather than the panic threatening to overtake reason.

  She’d never had the best imagination. It was one reason she chose to lose herself in logic and the facts of history. But to find herself here—in a world known only in an obscure storybook her mother had given them…how was this even possible? Was this all some crazy dream? Or was she losing her mind?

  Real or not, it seemed she was stuck here. There wasn’t any use in dwelling or worrying or doing anything other than seeing this adventure to the end. Wherever it might lead. Preferably to a hot bath and soft bed.

  She did find a certain irony, however, in her current situation. As a scholar, she lived her life in books and essays and testimonials to history. Why shouldn’t she be…trapped in one? She caught a laugh behind trembling fingers. Who was ever going to believe this?

  The darkness that encased this world settled around her like a suffocating blanket. Trudging through an unknown forest like Tripsy, Snow White’s lesser known eighth dwarf, had her considering investing in inflatable clothing. She’d fallen on her face so much there were more twigs and leaves in her hair than were strewn on the ground. Just as the thought passed through her mind, a small clearing appeared, bathed in that soft, glowing light courtesy of the same luminescent flowers that had surrounded the lake.

  She could hear the trickle of water nearby. Her stomach growled around the remnants of the solitary mini scone and coffee she’d had for breakfast. “Not a Starbucks in sight.”

  “Starbucks?” Keane’s voice sounded strained.

  “A place that serves coffee.” What she wouldn’t give to be sipping on a white chocolate mocha about now.

  “What is coffee?”

  Nellie stopped suddenly, and Keane barreled into her from behind. This time she dug her heels into the ground to stop from falling.

  “I might be able to accept a lot of things about this place, but no coffee?” She spun in time to see him sway before he caught his footing. Great. Now her clumsiness was contagious. She squinted into the growing light provided by the flora. Glowing flowers. Who knew? But now, now she could see this place for the beauteous fantasy world it was. Such odd, shimmering colors. Angular shaped leaves and thick branches dripping off trees with trunks thick and wide enough to provide housing for a small family.

  But all that scenery was nothing compared to the man who had pulled her out of that swampy lake. He stood tall enough to give her altitude sickness. She had to tip her chin back to look into that stunning, handsome—she hadn’t been kidding about that—face that bore tiny scars that hinted of heroism. She could only imagine what tales his body could tell. And what a body it was. Toned and fit, with barely an ounce of fat that she could see, she’d bet he could have easily doubled as a cover model for the romance novels she was addicted to. Hair the color of summer hay hung long enough to brush the top of his ears and the back of his neck, and as it had dried, curled itself into tempting waves she’d bet felt like silk under her curious fingers. Nellie cleared her throat. Yeah, that was appropriate thinking for the situation. “I’ve read where other senses kick in when you lose your sight? Is that right?”

  “If that’s your way of asking if I’m always this clumsy, the answer is no. I’m a bit distracted.” Keane rubbed his fingers hard against his temple as if he had a headache before slipping his hand into the split of his stained tunic. “It’s been a while since I’ve been around a beautiful woman.”

  Nellie snorted. Now she knew he was blind. “I’m short, round, and my hair is probably twice as wide as I am right now.” Amber was the glamour sister. Clara, the pretty one. Nellie was…the one with the fun personality. She’d stopped trying to smooth her ragged curls. What she wouldn’t give for some de-frizzer. Or tights that weren’t squishing in her waterlogged boots. Or a flashlight. Clara would have had one in her bag, but that and the book were probably on the bottom of that lake by now. Nellie bit her lip. Best not share that bit of information with her sister when they met up. “Are you sure you’re all right?” She moved closer to him. He took a step back. “You look awfully pale.”

  “I am fine.” He teetered as he spoke. “Just residual effects from the lake. We should keep moving.”

  “Yeah, yeah, demon warriors on our trail, right.” Not convinced he was telling the truth, she slapped a hand on his chest to hold him in place. He flinched. “Hold on.” She caught his chin in her fingers and tilted his head toward the light. “You’re bleeding. Your head—”

  “Not my head. Please, Nellie.” He caught her arm and attempted to turn her around. “We need to—”

  “Stop it!” She shrugged off his hand more easily than expected and pulled him over into brighter light. Only then did she see the thick trickle of blood pooling from beneath his shirt. “Keane, holy hell!” She ripped open the fabric. “You are hurt! Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because there’s nothing we can do about it until we get back to the Citadel.” But he swayed again, this time far enough to the side that Nellie had to catch him. “Your safety is my priority. I promised Clara.”

  “You let me deal with my sister. And you can’t protect anyone in your condition. You need to sit down so I can look at that.” She looked around him, spotted an uncomfortable looking rock, and guided him to it.

  “We don’t have time—”

  Nellie moved in, hands gripping his upper arms—wow, did he have well defined biceps—and peered up at him. “Sit on the rock or on the ground. Your choice.”

  “There is nothing to be done, Nellie.” He chose the rock, thankfully, Nellie thought, as she wasn’t sure how she’d haul him up off the ground. “I need a healer. Unless you are one?”

  “I’m an historian,” Nellie mumbled. “And I guess this brings us to our get to know each other portion of our romantic walk through the woods.” When she was sure he was steady enough to sit up without assistance, she heeled off her boots so she could shimmy out of her tights. She tossed them to the ground and unbuttoned the wool coat she’d bought the day they’d arrived in Edinburgh.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Giving you a show, obviously,” Nellie said and took some pleasure in the amused light shining in those eerie white eyes of his. Like she’d have had the guts to strip in front of him if he could see her. She’d always been the lights off kinda girl when it came to her very limited intimate experiences. “Kidding, of course. Unless….” She leaned in and stared him right in the eyes. “You weren’t lying about being blind, were you?”

  He shook his head.

  Her jacket hit the ground and she pulled her black turtleneck over her head. The oddly warm air brushed against her bare skin. She watched Keane, shifting on the rock as he tried not to show how much pain he was in. “Of course I’d meet a guy who has no way of appreciating my hidden attributes.” She looked down at her bra, half grateful he couldn’t see the plain white cotton fabric she wrestled with every day. Nope. No lace and satin for her. Besides, neither would make good bandages anyway. Her overly practical Scottish mind and wallet wouldn’t go for such frivolity.

  “Nothing hidden from me.” Keane held up one hand, wiggled his fingers. “What my eyes don’t see, these do.”

  Nellie laughed, surprised that the sound made her feel better. “Understood, Romeo. Let’s see about getting you fixed up here. Shirt, off, please.” She returned to his side and pulled his hand away from his side.

  “You women and your orders.” But he did as she said. He hissed out a breath when she probed around the wound. “Please don’t.”

  “I can’t tell if there’s something in there. It looks like a bullet wound.” She pressed her fingers on either side of the jagged opening, watched the flow of blood and felt a bit relieved when it wasn’t running dark and black. She didn’t know a lot about triage, but she knew the darker the blood, the worse the condition.

  He leaned toward her, his breath warm against her skin. Nellie shivered. “I wouldn’t do that. I smell like swamp.”

  He took a deep breath and sent chills racing down her spine. “Lake and wildflowers. What is a bullet? Some creature from your world?”

  “Ah, no.” Nellie pushed her hair behind her ears and stooped in front of him. He opened his legs. Her cheeks went warm as knelt between them. He’d asked her a question. What had he…hard to concentrate when she was surrounded by a man who could fry every synapse in a woman’s brain. He was as intoxicating as weekend in Cancun. “A bullet is a metal fragment fired from another metal weapon. It’s a projectile, I guess you’d call it.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Can be.” Nellie pressed her fingers harder. Keane sank away from her, letting out a string of curses—she assumed they were curses—in a language she didn’t recognize. “Sorry. Yeah, I think there’s something in the wound.”

  “Zephyr thorn. Tententacled creature that lives in the lake.”

  “Killer decipus. Got it. As long as it isn’t poisonous….” When Keane didn’t respond, she looked up at him. How did a blind man manage to avoid her gaze? “Keane?”

  He lifted a bloodstained hand to her face, stroked a solitary finger down the side of her cheek. “I need to get to the Citadel.”

  “Son of a biscuit maker, you’ve been poisoned? You’ve got to be kidding me.” She scrambled to her feet and grabbed her turtleneck off the ground. Heading in the direction of the water she’d heard, she found a small stream and dumped her shirt into it, ringing it out a few times before folding it. After a good couple of drinks, she returned to Keane and, bracing one hand on his bare, scarred shoulder, pressed the wet fabric against his injury.

  “You’re trying to kill me.” Keane gritted his teeth and dropped his head back. “And after I saved your life.”

  “I’m trying to make sure you get us where we need to go.” Having him bleed to death on the way wasn’t going to do either of them any good. “Let me guess.” She grabbed her tights and drew them around his torso to hold the makeshift bandage in place. “You’re one of those prideful kind of men, aren’t you?” She shoved her feet back into her boots, pulled on and buttoned up her jacket, and wedged herself under his arm to heft him back on his feet. “Not about to show weakness or ask for help.”

  “I did ask for help.” He pressed tentative fingers against the bandage before he drew his shirt closed. “I told you I needed your eyes.”

  “You need a brain transplant. If we’re going to get to this Citadel in one piece, we need to work together. No more holding out on me, Keane, understand?”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  “Okay, wow.” Nellie’s entire body flushed. “How about you save that talk for when you’re feeling better?” There she went again, flirting. What was wrong with her? She never initiated…anything. Clara or Amber? Sure, they didn’t have any qualms when it came to the opposite sex. Or sex in general. Nellie, on the other hand?

  According to her ex, an igloo registered higher on a thermometer than she did. And didn’t that work wonders on a girl’s self-esteem.

  Cue the over-compensation. Not that she expected a man like Keane to be remotely attracted to a frumpy woman like her. “Any idea how far we have to go?”