Two Roped and Ready [Bewitching Desires 6] (Siren Publishing Menage Amour) (8 page)

“I can’t tell you what happened. Not yet anyway.” Letting out another sigh, she looked over her shoulder toward the exit, tugging her fingers loose. She was halfway out the door before he could try to stop her. “I have to go. Oh, and my name is Ilona.”

She hurried into the wide hallway, the dejection in her voice staying with him long after she descended the stairs. “Pax, we fucked up. I just wish I knew what we did.”

* * * *

Scribbling the cursed words onto the scrap of paper, Ilona made a solemn oath.
I will
never
perform another spell, incantation, or charm as long as I live.
She handed the pathetic excuse for a transportation spell to Great Grandmother Romána and waited for the lecture on trying to influence not only her own future, but affecting others’ lives. The reprimand would be well-deserved.

“Ilona, my daughter, mistakes happen. Risking your life to find your mates may not have been the wisest choice, but given Magdolna’s and Amalía’s difficulties, I understand your wish to direct your own destiny.” The matriarch of the Macska family folded her wrinkled hands on her lap. “Have patience. Your young men were influenced by whatever and whoever sent them into the past. After a time, they recalled details about their real history. I believe it will happen again.”

But I don’t have time! The third-quarter moon comes in a week. They can’t possibly regain their memories by then, and they won’t be permitted to stay unless we’re joined.
Ilona wrapped her arms around her middle and blinked away stinging tears. Grandmother Magdolna’s forty-nine-year separation from her true mate and Amalía’s mate’s sterility-causing disease that had left Ilona an only child had seemed like a series of bad omens. Ilona’s experience would add to the string of unlucky episodes. “Will they be allowed to go home to San Antonio when they remember?”

“If they choose to leave. Time will tell, daughter.”

Rather than voicing the disheartening doubts, Ilona nodded and leaned in to kiss her grandmother’s cheek as she rose. “Thank you. I’m very sorry for causing so much trouble.”

“Nonsense, child. Life without trials would be uninteresting. Rest now. Tomorrow is a new day.”

“Shall I walk you to your room, Great Grandmother?”

The old woman smiled. “I have a bit of reading to do before I retire. Good night.”

At the clear dismissal, Ilona left the main parlor, twirling several strands of hair around her finger. She’d hoped to remain downstairs until she was certain PC and Quayde had gone to bed. Seeing them would remind her of the foolishness of her plan and what she’d done to their memories of her. They couldn’t possibly recover quickly enough to meet her deadline.

When she arrived at the third floor of the north wing, she paused for a fortifying breath. It morphed into a yawn. How could she be so tired after having spent much of the day in bed? Her thumb smarted as she twisted the doorknob to her suite, and she lifted it to inspect the sore pad.

The dark line of a splinter came into focus and then blurred, setting her off-balance. Blinking did nothing to clear her vision, so she reached out for the wall. Her head swam. The muscles in her legs refused to hold her up, and she crumpled to the floor.

“Paxton? Quayde?” Her hoarse whisper sounded odd to her own ears. How would they hear her? “Help me.”

Desperation sent her pulse thumping in her head as she fought to stay conscious.

“Help.”

* * * *

Slipping on the borrowed pajama bottoms, PC tied the drawstring at his waist and glanced toward the bedroom door in hopes of hearing Ilona return. She’d run off hours ago, leaving Quayde and him to eat their room-service supper by themselves. They’d explored the apartment afterward, too curious to simply sit and wait for her on the couch with no TV to watch or magazines to read.

The unguided tour had produced more questions than answers. Off the master bedroom, they’d discovered a nursery with a pair of matching cribs. No babies slept in them, but their presence suggested Ilona was the mother since she obviously knew her way around the three-bedroom, two-bath accommodation. The master bathroom was also stocked with female necessities, but no men’s deodorant or shaving supplies. Was she a single parent? The twin beds that he and his friend had been allotted could be for the children who would soon outgrow the cribs. Or maybe she had four kids?

A faint thump made his eyes flick back to the door.

Quayde jumped off the bed where he’d been sitting and jogged to the door, flinging it open. “Ilona?”

PC followed, his heart in his throat. They’d discussed every possible scenario they could think of to explain her behavior toward them. Rape and any kind of forced sex had been discarded as soon as they were brought up. Hell, if she’d told them no in the middle of getting off, they would’ve stopped. Disrespecting women—anyone, for that matter—wasn’t acceptable.

Since all three of them had been naked, consensual sex was the most likely situation. He and Quayde had both noticed barely discernible marks on their wrists and ankles as if they’d been bound. They could’ve been robbed.

The only truly laughable suggestion had come from Quayde—that Ilona was a dominatrix and had tied them up for a kinky threesome. Based on the pure innocence in her dark eyes, the idea had to be ludicrous.

Joining his friend in the living room, PC swallowed the letdown of not seeing her walking through the entrance. Frustration and impatience simmered in its place. “Why hasn’t she come back?”

Something inside urged him to find her. She knew much more than she’d told them, and the slim chance that he’d hurt her weighed on his conscience. He yanked open the door, ready to search the whole damn place for her.

Quayde pushed past him. He dropped to his knees beside the inert body just outside the apartment. “Shit! Ilona, are you okay?”

She lay crumpled on the hardwood floor, her long braid coiled near her chin. Her eyes were closed, and PC jerked his gaze to her chest to make sure it rose and fell. His gut cramped. Yes, she was breathing, but her cheeks lacked any color, and she lay at an odd angle, like she’d fallen.

He brushed his fingers along her jaw, hating the helplessness of not knowing what was wrong with her. “Ilona, can you hear me?”

Chapter 7

Calm. Gotta stay calm.

Quayde pressed his index and middle fingers to Ilona’s neck, searching for a pulse. Shallow and weak. Too slow. “Find somebody to call for help, PC!”

Pax rushed to one of the other doors in the wide corridor, banging on the closest to the apartment. “We need help! Call nine-one-one!”

The door swung wide to reveal a woman in a robe. Her dark eyes—eyes nearly identical to Ilona’s—widened when she looked toward Ilona. “Stay with her. I’ll get Agnes and Flóra.”

She ducked in her room, and PC hurried back to grasp Ilona’s hand. “Stay with us, darlin’. Please stay with us.”

Wishing for a response didn’t bring it, though. Quayde fought the dread coursing through this soul, unable to accept that she could die. He didn’t have any memory of her, but a connection existed just the same.
Keep breathing.

The clamor of feet running and mingled voices brought a second of relief until a crowd of half a dozen nightgown-clad women swept him and PC away from the patient. Where were the EMTs? The paramedics? How could a bunch of middle-aged ladies save his perfect Ilona?

“Young man, carry her to her bed.” A graying grandmotherly type nudged him on the shoulder. “Hurry!”

Gathering Ilona in his arms, he jogged to her bedroom and settled her on top of the bedcovers. “Is she going to be okay?”

His question was met with a worried frown. “I pray to the Goddess she will be. Now, run along. Agnes and Flóra need to examine her.”

Goddess?

The woman from across the hall guided him to the living room, pulling the door closed behind them. “Come, come. We’re in the way. You are Quayde Gallagher.” She sat between him and PC on the couch. “And you are Paxton Campbell. I’m Amalía, Ilona’s mother. She spoke of you at dinner.”

How could she sit there carrying on a normal conversation like her daughter wasn’t dying in the next room? Quayde fisted his hands in an effort to hold his tongue. He had half a mind to demand exactly what Ilona had told her mother about him and PC as well.

Amalía patted his leg. “Worrying doesn’t make the sick well. It only makes the worrier sick. I have to believe she’ll be fine since she found you both. Fate will not be denied.”

“Found us?” He and PC blurted out the words together.

“Oh, you poor boys. It must be terrible to have had your memories stolen from you. They will return soon.”

She smiled, reminding Quayde of Ilona’s sweet mouth. The facial similarities were all the confirmation he needed to know they were mother and daughter.
But I’ve never seen her smile. Have I?
“I hope so.”

“She cares for you. Don’t let her doubts be a wall between you.”

Amalía’s cryptic metaphors circled round and round in his head as silence stretched from seconds to minutes. How could Ilona care for him and Pax when they’d met less than twenty-four hours ago? Why didn’t he recognize her? His instincts said he should, that she was important to him.

The faint squeak of the bedroom door brought him to his feet. The woman who’d ordered him to carry Ilona entered the living room, her expression unreadable. “I wish to speak to you in private, Amalía.”

Her demeanor and request could only mean Ilona had died. Quayde almost doubled over at the thought, disbelief at the cruelty of life multiplying his pain. “No, she has to be alive.”

PC buried his face in his palms. “She can’t be dead.”

The woman clucked her tongue. “Gentlemen, don’t be melodramatic. Of course, Ilona didn’t die. I simply need to talk to her mother. Amalía, will you join me?”

Rising from her place on the couch, Amalía nodded and followed. Once again, the door closed, locking him and PC out of the loop.

Pacing to the window, Quayde looked past his reflection to the gardens below, the moon washing the entire view in twilight. The snow glittered on the bushes.

PC came to stand beside him. “What do you suppose they didn’t want to talk about in front of us?”

“I don’t know. I want to see her, though. Make sure she’s okay.”

“Yeah, me too. Amalía said Ilona found us. I’d like to know what that means, especially with the way I need to be close to her. Something weird’s going on.”

Quayde agreed with that observation. “Do you think they’ll let us stay with her tonight?”

“Yes, you may stay with Ilona. She’ll draw strength from you.” The face of an old woman appeared in the glass, wisdom hanging like an ethereal cloud around her—or maybe it was the glow of moon mirrored on the snow. “I am Romána. You are welcome in my home.”

Expecting a tall, hunched over, cane-wielding sage, he had to cover his shock with a smile when he rotated for a proper introduction. She stood ramrod straight, taking up every inch of her barely five-foot stature. Her presence, however, filled the room. The image in the window might’ve been influenced by the moon, but energy—or power—exuded off her in invisible waves.

A long braid hung over her shoulder, much the way Ilona had worn her hair after the awkward naked scene.
Another relative. A grandmother or great aunt?

He gave a single nod. “Good to meet you, ma’am. I’m Quayde, and this is PC.” The latter part of her greeting suddenly registered. “This is your
house
? I thought we were in some kind of fancy hotel or a really nice resort.”

“The Macska mansion must accommodate our growing family. All of my daughters, granddaughters, and their children and grandchildren reside here. We’ve welcomed many new members recently.” She turned toward the bedroom door a full two seconds before it opened, as if knowing it would. “You may go in as soon as Szabina, my oldest daughter, gives you her permission to do so.”

The woman from the hallway shooed the nightgown-clad group through the doorway and out the exit. She propped her fists on her hips, glancing toward Quayde and PC. “Ilona will sleep while she heals. Stay with her through the night, leaving only if absolutely necessary—and only one at a time. She must not be left alone. Agnes or Flóra will return in the morning to check her progress.”

PC stepped forward as she finished speaking. “Yes, ma’am. What’s wrong with her?”

She didn’t answer.

Looking back toward Romána to excuse himself, Quayde blinked. Where had she gone? How the hell hadn’t he noticed her going out the door? Now, Szabina vanished without a sound.

Too worried about Ilona to care about anything else, he strode after his friend into the dim bedroom. A trio of light-green candles flickered on top of the dresser, giving Ilona’s skin an unnatural hue, and he moved closer to her to block the golden radiance from her face. Pale and motionless, she could’ve been a doll if not for the soft, rhythmic sound of her breathing.
She’s breathing.