She’s not your concern.
Ludan tightened his grip on the
castle’s thick mahogany door until he thought the wood would snap. He’d fed
himself the same damned mantra since the first time he’d seen Brenna, over and
over in an endless loop.
Along with all the other voices.
Ian ambled up beside him and
stared down the veranda in time to see Brenna disappear around the far side of
the castle. “What the hell did you say to her?”
“I didn’t say anything.” Forcing
his fingers free, Ludan let the door slip shut. The land on the far end of the
castle was quiet. No other energy patterns registered near the ocean where
Brenna had headed, nor in the forest beyond. Only blinding midmorning sun and
the bold blue Myren sky filled the quiet landscape in between.
He still didn’t like it. Too much
weirdness had gone down in the last few months. Serena and Angus’s page, Sully,
disappearing. The Spiritu. The prophecy. He glanced at Ian beside him. “Go find
Lexi. Have her take you to Evad today. I’ll find Brenna and bring her back.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
The bite in Ian’s tone cut
through Ludan’s focus. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because you looked like you were
an inch away from ripping her head off.”
Hardly. A hopeless junkie would
surrender his fix before he’d hurt Brenna. Not that Ian would know that. None
of them would. Ever. “I had things on my mind.” Like how anytime she got within
fifteen feet of him the nonstop racket in his head downgraded to a more
tolerable decibel.
Ian cocked his head and anchored
his hands in the pockets of his jacket, studying Ludan with a level of scrutiny
that probably came in slow-mo precision. The son of a bitch was too damned
perceptive. Cops—or former-cops turned PI in Ian’s case—usually were.
“Track down Lexi,” Ludan grumbled
before Ian could latch on to any ideas. “The sooner I find Brenna and you’re in
Evad running reconnaissance, the sooner I can get back to guarding Eryx.”
He strode away and shook the
weight of Ian’s stare off his back. This whole damned place was one giant
microscope lately. Suspicious stares. People digging into his personal life and
asking questions they had no right to ask. Ian could think whatever the fuck he
wanted. Tracking Brenna and making sure no other shit storms were on the
horizon was just common sense, nothing more.
Justify it however you want, but
you’d follow her with or without a prophecy.
His conscience’s uppercut nailed
him square in the gut and yanked him to a halt at the castle’s edge.
Beyond the stone safety wall,
Brenna stood staring down at the cove. Her dark hair whipped in the heavy ocean
winds while the rest of her stood still as a statue. In the past few months,
he’d watched from the sidelines as she’d fought her way back from near death.
Seen her creep from the timid shell she’d survived behind after fifteen long
years with Maxis. Studied how every day her posture got a little taller, her
shoulders squared, and her chin had raised a fraction higher.
Today was different. Something in
her near-black eyes seemed fractured. Broken. Off in a way that tripped all
kinds of warning bells.
Pushing his Myren senses out
along the cove, he gauged for any disturbance he might have missed. A larken
swooped and sang high overhead, his deep blue body a near perfect match to
Brenna’s gown. Except for the bird and Brenna, no other forms of energy
stirred. No visible threats, which meant whatever plagued her had already
happened, or originated in her head.
He should leave her be and get
Lexi. Combat and stealth were all he had to offer. If either were worth a damn
when it came to emotions, he’d have slain his own demons years ago. Histus,
even Ian would be better at this than him. At least Ian shared something in
common with her. Two humans whose lives had been turned upside down by Maxis
Steysis.
A memory surged to the forefront
of his mind, and his knees nearly buckled. His mother, bloody and battered.
Defiled and broken in a way no woman should ever know. Her screams roared above
all the other memories battling for space in his head, sending painful shards between
his temples.
He shook his head and focused on
the grass beneath his boots. How the silver on the bold green blades sparked on
the morning sun. How the rich, dark soil beneath it was still damp from storms
the night before. It was just a memory. The worst of all the ones he had to
relive, for sure, but in the past. This was now.
Brenna still hadn’t moved. She
probably just needed time alone, a concept he of all people understood, but he
could check on her without making her uncomfortable. Pulling his mask into
place, he blended with the elements, hiding his presence as he took to the sky
and circled up and over the cove. A desperate, almost palpable propulsion urged
him faster, directing him no more than twenty feet in front of her.
She stared out at the sea, her
gaze empty and unfocused. He knew that look. Resignation and defeat. Had
staggered beneath the weight of both for too damned many years. Her hands were
fisted tight at her sides, and her toes touched the bluff’s edge. Surely she
wouldn’t try to take her life. Not now. Not after all she’d survived.
As if in answer to his thoughts,
Brenna’s head snapped up, and her focus sharpened on the horizon.
The muscles along his shoulders
uncoiled, and he huffed out a relieved exhale. Whatever had gripped her was
gone now. Even her energy sparked brighter than moments before, as if the
ocean’s breeze had slipped beyond the confines of her skin and swept the
sleeping monsters from her soul. Still, he’d be smart to keep an eye on her.
The dark, untamed presence inside
him lifted its head, ears perked. The clawing hunger and compulsion he kept
hidden and buried from everyone else rippled to the surface. Too close. An
animal scenting the most succulent prey.
He forced himself an extra twenty
feet away. Being closer to Brenna was a bad idea. Blissful in the way she
dampened the backlash of his gift, but far too risky with the beast. That ugly,
unpredictable part of him was only fit for battle. He’d mention his concerns
for Brenna to Lexi or Galena. Brenna would be more comfortable with them
anyway.
He turned for the castle, the
memory of her soulful, near-black eyes and the way they’d focused on his lips
this morning superimposing on the brilliant sunrise in front of him. For the
sweetest, most torturous moment, he could have sworn she wanted him. Craved him
the way he wanted her. But that couldn’t be right. She was afraid of men. All
of them.
Beneath him, the tossing seas
transitioned to the plush green grass surrounding the castle. He had a job to
do. The job he was born to do. The sooner he got back to it, the sooner that
taut, insistent tug that stretched between him and Brenna would go away. At
least he hoped it would. Either that, or he’d have to spar and drink himself
into a stupor like he had the last few weeks.
A shriek rang out behind him, the
sheer terror of it searing white-hot shrapnel inside his chest.
Before his mind had fully
registered Brenna as its source, his body acted on instinct. The distance he’d
created between them swept by in a blur. The only object in perfect focus was
Brenna, her fingers digging into the loose clay and her slender arms pushing
with all she had.
The slick, moss-covered edges
crumbled.
Brenna’s fingers slipped through
the clay, and she dropped out of sight.
The beast roared and lashed him
from the inside out. Fear supercharged his powers and shot him through the air
so fast the wind burned his face. The powdered sand and black boulders rushed
closer, Brenna only two arm spans away.
Three feet from the ground, he
swooped beneath her and angled up at a sharp pitch. His heart slammed an angry
protest, and his lungs burned for air, but Brenna was flush against him.
Shaking violently in his arms with a brutal grip on his shoulders, but safe.
He held them there, high above
the ocean, and cradled her closer.
Her breath chuffed against his
skin, and something wet trailed down the side of his neck. Tears. A river of
them mixed with gentle sobs.
And he could hear them. Each
raspy inhalation as clear as a whisper in the dead of night. The ocean and the
larken, too. No voices clouding the sounds around him. No memories trampling
each other for headspace. They weren’t just dimmed the way they normally were
around her, they were gone. Absolute silence. His first reprieve in over a
hundred years.
His arms tightened on instinct,
as though she might somehow fly away or dissipate into nothingness. Rubbing his
cheek against the top of her head, he savored the silk texture against his skin
and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “You’re safe.”
She huddled closer, drawing her
knees to her chest as her whimpers continued. The ocean tossed bold and loud
beneath them. Probably not the most reassuring view from a non-flying human’s
point of view.
Fuck, like she’d have any other
response. She’d nearly died. He couldn’t exactly expect her to lift her head
and beam sunshine and roses.
He drifted to a flat-topped
boulder at the cove’s base and settled with the bluff wall behind him. Leaning
back, he gave the wall his weight and pulled his knees in to angle Brenna
closer.
Damn, but she felt good. So tiny
and soft. Her hand opened and closed against his chest, dragging the
slick-rough fabric of his drast against his adrenaline-soaked skin in a way he
probably shouldn’t enjoy, but abso-fucking-lutely did. Considering Brenna
couldn’t get a solid breath in, it was also entirely the wrong thing to think
about. There had to be something he could do. Something to help her find her
balance.
For once, a decent memory came to
mind. The day he’d tried to imitate his father by jumping off their cottage
roof in an attempt to fly. He’d been too little to comprehend that flight
required an awakening, something that didn’t happen to eight-year-old boys. His
mother had healed his wounds and held him in her lap while he cried, rocking
slowly side to side.
He’d liked that. A lot. So much
so, he’d pretended to cry longer so he could stay.
Gently, he imitated the movement,
albeit more clunky than his mother. He stroked a hand from the top of her head
to the small of her back, her glossy hair slick against his callused palm.
Since the first time he’d seen her, he’d been fascinated by it. The darkest
chocolate to match her eyes.
Wind whispered through the cove,
wrapping a faint vanilla scent around them. He dipped his head, his nose only
inches from her temple, and inhaled deep. It was Brenna, either her hair or her
skin, but whatever it was, was perfect. Comforting and soft.
The darkness inside him settled.
Stilled in a way he hadn’t felt since before his awakening. Countless battles
he’d fought, and bone-chilling memories he’d absorbed in the name of protecting
his malran and his race, but no act felt as important as this moment. This was
what armies fought to provide. What men died to protect.
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