Page 143 of Shattered Jewel
My words remain in the air long after I’ve said them. A vow. A promise my ancestors, and then my father and brother, made to keep this ruby and its sordid history from ever getting into the wrong hands.
One I intend to keep.
The growl of the SUV cuts into my thoughts. Tires crunch on gravel.
Exhaustion drags at me, pain a dull throb. I let my eyes drift shut, surrendering to the pull of oblivion.
The last thing I feel is Kaspian’s gentle release, and I dream of the solid warmth of my men surrounding me, a shield against the demons lurking in the dark.
Chapter 34
Elara
Iopen my eyes slowly, my body aching with every slight movement, the rest of my senses falling behind.
Curling my fingers, the softest cotton hits my skin, coupled with my head lying on a cloud. Through slits of vision, I realize I’m in a bed with a red velvet canopy above me and gold tassels swinging gently from the open, half-round windows on either side.
Golden rays stream through the grime of the window’s panels, showcasing figure in a sofa chair by the bed, head dipped low and thick, black hair curtaining her face.
The sound of pages turning comes next, a type of noise that calms my breathing and prevents the instant panic at the thought of someone in the room with me—I killed a man—while my memories resurface.
I must make a rustling sound, because the face becomes clear through her cascading ebony waves, and Clover smiles. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”
I swallow, my throat dry. “Like death warmed over”—each of my men, branded with a skin-melting ruby—”The guys. Sasha. Where are they?”
“Alive. Rossi’s tending to them downstairs. They’re … resistant to treatment.”
A ghost of a smile touches my lips at the thought of my men submitting to Rossi’s surgical instruments. “Sounds about right. They need Rossi’s help, though. If I have to go down there and make them?—”
—sounds of them screaming while the ruby was torched into their skin?—
Clover rests her hand on mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s all right. You don’t have to go anywhere. They’ll be okay.”
Too exhausted to fight, I lean back against the stacked pillows. “Who called you to come help us?”
She gives a wry half-smile. “Kaspian. He refused to leave your side when he brought you into this room. Even cleaned you up himself. But I think it was when his blood started dripping on you during your sponge bath that he thought to call in reinforcements.”
Despite everything, I feel a flicker of warmth at the thought of him doing all that. Stubborn idiot.
“He must’ve been desperate to call for the Vultures,” I say more to myself.
“You’ve all been through a lot, and we’ve experienced something similar. I’m glad that man saw sense, because I’m convinced Kaspian prefers to live on scorched earth.”
I respond with a quiet laugh. Now that I know my men are safely tended to and I’ve figured out where I am—Mom’s bedroom—my attention drifts to the old, leather tome on Clover’s lap filled with cracked, yellowed pages. “What are you reading?”
“This was in the library down the hall. It confirms what I’ve discovered about your ties to the Anderton line.”
Clover closes the book and shows me the cover.
Though she found it in Farrow Manor, I’ve never seen it before.
She explains, “It’s a ledger from the 1700s, kept by a midwife named Agnes Briar. She recorded every birth she attended, including some... unofficial ones.”
My interest piques despite my utter depletion of adrenaline. “Unofficial?”
“Births that wealthy families wanted kept quiet. And there’s an entry here that’s particularly interesting.” Clover lays the book on the space beside me and points. “A baby girl, born to a ‘Miss L’ in 1715. The same year Sarah Anderton was tortured and executed.”
I push myself up, ignoring the protest from my battered body. “And you think that’s related to the lost Anderton baby?”