Fiona scrambled to her feet and took off toward the far exit. He followed just behind. Halfway through the room, they had to dive to the floor as the precious stones flew out of their glass cases on the wall and hurtled toward them like bullets—rubies, diamonds, emeralds glinting in the low light.
Several lodged themselves in his right arm and leg. He looked up through the arm that shielded his face and saw Fiona flinch as some of the stones hit her.
An unfamiliar protectiveness welled within him, tightening his throat and making his fists clench. So unfamiliar, but so strong. He crawled to her and threw himself over her. She tensed, then stilled. Finally, the sting of stones stopped.
“Go,” he said.
She scrambled to her feet and he followed, taking off with only twenty yards between them and the entrance to the basement. From behind, the sound of creaking and groaning echoed through the room. Like a great iron bridge breaking. He swore he could feel the reverberations through his chest.
Ian glanced left. A hulking boulder, like the stone trolls of myths, hurtled across the floor, headed for Fiona.
It was a split-second decision, all instinct and no thought. He surged for Fiona, knowing that the boulder would likely crush him as he pushed her out of its way. His instincts had moved him and his body had followed. His brain had no say in it.
A thousand pounds of stone slammed into his back. The crash of their collision sent a bolt of agony from his shoulders to his feet.
He collapsed on the floor, his body a crushed mess of pain. Thank gods the boulder wasn’t on top of him. It had bludgeoned him in the back and hurtled into the wall. The rest of the stones had fallen still. The spell was done, but this could have killed him, for gods’ sake. What the hell had he been thinking?
“Nay!” Fiona’s scream echoed in his head. “Ian!”
She’d been what he’d been thinking, he realized. Shite. That was unexpected.
She knelt over him and prodded at his back. He groaned at the stab of pain.
“Where does it hurt?” she asked.
Everywhere. He closed his eyes and sucked in a steadying breath. The agony that had streaked through his back was fading now, courtesy of Mytheans’ speedy healing ability.
He gritted his teeth and pushed himself to his knees. There were definitely some broken bones. A few ribs, maybe his scapula. But even that was fading. It’d take some time to heal, but he could function.
“What the hell were you doing?” Fiona cried.
He hesitated. The truth of what he’d done, what it meant about his feelings, stared him in the face. Admit to her that he’d been willing to die for her? Hell, he didn’t know how to process that. How would she? It was crazy.
Her eyes turned stark, dark in her pale face. “You sacrificed yourself for me. That was…” She looked around the room as if she’d find the word she wanted lying in the corner. “That was so stupid.”
“What?” That was not what he’d expected.
Or was it? She was right. It’d been stupid. Ever since he’d walked out of the slums of Old Town as a boy, he’d dragged himself from misery by looking out only for himself. Caring for someone, like the old woman who’d brought him up before he’d gone to the workhouse, ended with abandonment. Willingly or not, people left you.
Helping, giving to others got you nowhere. Looking out only for himself had gotten him through life, turned his dirt-brown past into something brighter.
Then he’d met her, and so quickly, so blindingly quickly that it had happened almost without him realizing it, he’d sacrificed himself for her. In all his life, he’d never even considered sacrificing himself for someone else. Not even Logan.
But with her, he hadn’t had time to think. Instinct had taken over. His subconscious seemed to know more about what she meant to him than his mind did. He had no fucking clue how to deal with that.
“It’s done. Forget it.” He knew the words were harsh, the tone worse. But he didn’t know how else to be.
“I doona see how that’s possible.”
“It does no’ matter,” he gritted. “The demons are still ahead of us.”
“Gods, you’re right. But this is no’ finished.” Her eyes were flint hard.
He staggered to his feet. She raced ahead to the basement door. Ian limped to keep up. He’d better start healing faster. They hadn’t a second to lose. If the demons were a species that could aetherwalk, they’d be back in their afterworld seconds after finding the book.
The basement door was cracked open just slightly, the lock no longer engaged. Ian palmed his knife. They passed through the door and crept down the white linoleum stairs, the tension in the air thick as custard. A long white hall stretched before them. Doors on either side led to offices and laboratories, according to the their plaques.
At the end, a door as unassuming as the rest led to the vault. There’d be a sturdy, locked door beyond it that really kept people out.