For the Love of a Goblin Warrior (Shadowlands) (18 page)

His camp was empty, but not the way he’d left it. His stomach sunk like a rock in a pot. It wasn’t just the scrub that had been disturbed. The shelter he’d built had been torn down. The clothes he slept in had been defecated on, the fire pit kicked and coals and ashes were strewn all over the ground. No animal or nightmare creation had done this.

A man had.

He examined the footprints left in the wet earth. Or rather two men. And he knew which men: the thieves he’d taken clothing from had returned the favor.

“Damn it.”

He’d been careful. Made sure he wasn’t followed. Approached the camp from different direction so no clear path was left. And yet they’d still found his camp. If they’d found it once, they’d find it again. And he didn’t want to be here when they came back. Especially if they brought friends. Men like that always hunted in groups because they didn’t have the guts to act alone.

What if they had come while he’d been sleeping?

What if they’d attacked with friends? How many of them could he have fought off? Two untrained men wasn’t hard—a handful or more, they won by sheer numbers. He’d been lucky. He could’ve been sitting by the fire when they found the camp. He turned and went looking for his cache where he hid his valuables.

As he walked, he scanned the ground for signs of disturbance. The scrub seemed to be untouched, but he wouldn’t let himself hope. Not yet. He moved a few branches cautiously—but the rain had sent most spiders scurrying for better shelter—and pulled the bag out from under the log. A few woodlice and snails clung to the fabric. Aside from the bugs, his bag that contained spare clothing and what was left of his food was fine. He released a sigh as he brushed the critters off and slung the bag over his shoulder.

The rain that had been holding off began to fall, light and cloying—the kind that was like mist—until it continued and soaked through everything. He jogged through the park, keeping alert for the men who’d sought to hurt him. No doubt they wouldn’t be satisfied with what they’d done.

Rain slicked his hair back and glued his clothes to his skin. Rivulets ran between his shoulder blades, down his spine, and into the back of his pants. While rain was part of living, he wouldn’t miss fighting in it, or holding secret meetings in weather too bad for the delicate Romans to venture into. He was looking forward to being in the nice warm house and sleeping in a bed…even if it was alone.

Chapter 11

“You made it back!” Bryce hugged Gina.

“Careful of the dress.” Gina kissed him and pushed him away.

Nadine tried to inch past, carrying the pale-pink bridesmaid dress. Fortunately, Gina hadn’t gone for some awful meringue concoction. Instead, the bridesmaid dresses were simple and just below the knee. Something she should be able to wear again, in theory.

“I was beginning to think I should send out a search party.” He tried to unzip the bag that was protecting the dress.

“Ugh, there was a car accident. People can’t seem to drive in the rain.” She smacked his hand away. “You can see it in a couple of days. I hope the rain has passed by then.”

“I’m sure it will,” Nadine said. She’d checked the forecast at least a dozen times. Now all she wanted to do was go to sleep. It was way past her bedtime and she had to work tonight.

“Can I at least see what the bridesmaids are wearing?” Bryce asked.

“Guys, I’m going to bed.” She took a couple of steps away and almost thought she’d made it.

“Who are you bringing to the wedding, Nadine?” Bryce asked.

No one. She frowned and turned back to face him. Tall, rugged, he looked like he could survive just about anywhere with a box of matches and a Swiss army knife. He could probably kill someone a dozen different ways with the same items…and Meryn could probably do the same.

“Not one of your mates. I’m kind of seeing someone.”

Yeah, she kind of was. It felt nice to say it. Gina blinked and then stared like Nadine had sprouted horns and a tail or something. Bryce raised his eyebrows.

“Who?” He crossed his arms.

“Someone. He’s British ex-army.”

“Really? When did this happen? Where did you meet him? How come you never told me?” Gina’s voice rose with each question.

“I met him two weeks ago and we sort of ran into each other again. It’s only been a couple of dates.” Not even dates. Date maybe, if she included buying him breakfast.

“You have to bring him.” Gina nodded and smiled.

Bryce was looking at her, studying her. “He got a name?”

“I can’t bring him. We’re still getting to know each other. And yes, he has a name, but I’m not going to tell you so you can go do nefarious background checks.”

Bryce put his hand over his heart. “Me?”

“Have you kissed him?” Gina asked.

Nadine shook her head but heat crept up her cheeks.

“You have. Please invite him. I want to meet him. The guy who you dated more than once—that’s almost a record,” Gina said with mock shock.

“It’s him or my friend Blue.” Bryce smiled, teasing.

Nadine knew she wouldn’t be allowed to keep Meryn a secret from her friend forever, but she’d hoped to keep it under wraps for a little longer, until she was sure there was something to talk about.

“Neither.” Nadine lifted her chin ready to stare Bryce down.

“What did he do?”

“Don’t know.” Meryn hadn’t said, just that he’d been a soldier.

“Why’d he get out?”

She almost mentioned Meryn’s wife, but at the last moment decided she couldn’t reveal that piece of information that had been told to her in confidence. “Personal reasons.”

“Do you know them?”

“Yes. This isn’t twenty questions.”

“Are you sure you won’t tell me his name?”

“I don’t need you to look out for me.” Yet a part of her was glad she had friends who actually cared.

“So you’ll bring him, so we can meet the mystery guy?” Gina hooked her arm through Bryce’s.

“I’ll invite him, but he might have plans.” Or he might run a mile, or she might forget to mention it, and thus save any further complications.

***

“I’m so glad you decided to see me, Mr. Nhial.” Andrew Timms extended his hand to Solomon.

Solomon shook the offered hand and received a lukewarm, half-dead response. Since Mr. Timms didn’t have the strength in his hand to shake properly, it was unlikely the lawyer had the strength of will to do anything that required a modicum of effort. His initial appraisal lowered.

“I always give a man a chance to speak.”

“Which is exactly what I’d like to give you. I’ve read your case, the police reports, and I believe a gross miscarriage of justice occurred.”

Solomon nodded once. He knew justice hadn’t been dealt, but he doubted very much that Mr. Timms knew what had really happened. He doubted Mr. Timms had ever given goblins a moment’s thought.

Mr. Timms continued with his sales pitch. “The detectives who took your statements have recently been convicted of corruption and falsifying evidence.”

Solomon knew that. The prison had buzzed with people seeking retrials, claiming they’d been set up even before the detectives had been convicted. The conviction this week had been the lead news story, taking over from a football scandal and a well-known lawyer who’d been caught embezzling funds.

“There was no evidence at the scene of my wife’s murder.” None that made any sense and none that would exonerate him.

“There was blood.”

“My wife’s blood.”

“It was never DNA tested. The killer’s blood could be there. The other substance, the black oil, could be tested more thoroughly.” Mr. Timms paused and looked hard at Solomon. “Despite the fact you had no alibi for the night, you have always maintained your innocence. Don’t you want to be vindicated?”

Solomon glanced at his hands, but only for a second; Mr. Timms was the kind of man that shouldn’t ever be left unwatched.

“The night my wife was killed, my daughter was left alone until I finished my cab shift. I was the prime suspect from the moment I rang the police. All I wanted then was someone to listen and let me look after my little girl. My girl is now an adult. I’m an old man. Rehashing history isn’t going to bring back the lost twenty years of my life.” He’d never given up on seeing Nadine again. He still hoped, now that he was free, she’d call or write. If he gave up, he might as well stop breathing.

“But everyone will know that you are innocent.”

“Only if you’re successful.” Solomon’s voice was quiet and steady. The lawyer was hoping his case would raise his own profile.

“We have a watertight case. Once the media gets involved, everyone will be talking about the corruption, racism, and failure of the legal system.”

“The legal system didn’t fail; it did the best it could at the time. I know how guilty I looked. I know there was no other suspect. So unless you know who killed my wife, I don’t think you can help me.”

“You don’t want your case reexamined?” Mr. Timms asked as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

“No.” There was no point. Michaline’s killer wasn’t of this world. He’d seen the goblin army chase down the dark streets as if the gates of hell had opened and let the demons out for the night—evil beasts ridden by twisted, damned souls. His wife had been obsessed by all things goblin and witnessing the Wild Ride on winter solstice was the highlight of each year. She would have watched it that night, and he was sure she’d been taken by it.

His fingers traced the crucifix tattooed on the back of his hand.
Thank
you, Lord, for sparing Nadine.

Mr. Timms leaned back in his padded leather chair, a sly glint in his narrowed eyes. The man was more slippery than wet soap. “Did you actually do it, is that why you don’t want the case looked at?”

Solomon looked at the lawyer. He had nothing more to say to the man who was seeking to use the misfortune of others to build his career.

“Good day, Mr. Timms.” Solomon stood. Sometimes the past was best left in the past. Digging it up would take everything he had left. Faith, hope, and love.

Chapter 12

Meryn was early. He’d gone to bed before it was dark and woken before it was dawn. His heart pounded as he’d reached for the light, half expecting his nightmare to be in bed with him. But there’d been nothing there, no blood and no dust and no body. His dream had remained inside his head. The small measure of relief that brought wasn’t enough to erase the fear that flowed in his veins. It hadn’t been Idella dying in his arms; it had been Nadine. And once again he’d been helpless to do anything. He’d ended up sitting at the dining room table, tracing out letters and trying to learn how to write his name until daylight. Now he was hoping, praying to any god who cared, that Nadine would show up and his nightmare hadn’t harmed her.

He walked past the bench and along the road, unable to be still and do nothing but wait. He watched the shadows shift on the sundial as the sun broke free of the hills in the east and climbed higher, pushing away the clouds. It was still overcast, and there’d be more rain. But for the moment, everything was fresh and new and glistening.

He turned and strode back to wait for Nadine. He didn’t just want to know she was unharmed; he wanted to see her again, kiss her again. Beautiful, kind, and interested in talking to him. She was different from the women of the Decangli. Nadine hadn’t been hardened by war and invasion. Yet, in her smile, there were secrets she didn’t want to share. That alone made him want to coax them out of her in soft whispers as she lay in his bed.

He didn’t sit, as the bench was wet, but he didn’t have long to wait. Nadine ran toward him, a smile forming on her lips. He let the tension he’d been holding close ease. His nightmare had been his alone. The concern that his nightmares might harm another faded. Like any other person, his nightmares lived only when he slept. He had broken the connection to the Shadowlands.

“Meryn.” Nadine came up beside him, her eyes bright in the cold. She pulled things out of her ears and bundled up the white cord.

They were almost the same height. He was maybe three finger widths taller. The space around her neck was still empty. Where the cross should have hung between her collarbones, there was nothing but smooth, tawny skin. His fingers twitched as he wanted to touch the bare piece of skin, but he didn’t let them in case they traveled too far.

He needed to find a way to return her cross. When he’d taken it, he’d been hoping to become goblin again; with every passing day he was glad it hadn’t worked.

“Good morning.” He smiled, glad she’d come back after yesterday’s kiss.

She stepped closer, and her eyebrows raised a fraction as if she were waiting for something. Her lips curved and parted as if she was daring him to kiss her again, only this time without her asking first.

And if he was wrong?

Her chin tilted and she held his gaze. He wasn’t. A woman didn’t look at a man like that without having something on her mind. Their lips met. Gently at first, to test her desire, to see if this was what she really wanted, and then to test his own. As a goblin, women were only short-lived queens and gold was always valued more. But at that moment he didn’t care if he never saw gold again. The very human heat of desire flooded his blood and slid through every nerve, tempting him with sensations that he’d thought lost.