Flamebound (22 page)

“You have to stop doing this to yourself,” I scold even as I wrap an arm around her waist and gently begin propelling her down the hall. “You're going to kill yourself one day.”

My words fall on deaf ears, just as I knew they would. Rachael is a healer—it's in her blood, in her magic, in every breath she draws and every action she performs. Over and over again she's sacrificed herself for the good of the coven and she'll continue to do so until the day we scatter her ashes in the wind.

“I'm fine,” she says, even as she limps along like a woman fifty years her senior.

“Yeah. I can tell.” I strengthen my hold around her waist, take more of her weight.

“He's sick, Xan, really sick.”

“I know.”

“I couldn't find the source.” She sags against me, rests her head on my shoulder as we make slow but steady progress. “It's a curse, it has to be. But who could get through his defenses so easily? And Jared's? And Mom's? And then have magic so strong that I can't even find what was done let alone try to neutralize it. It doesn't make sense.”

My blood runs cold at her words, though I do my best not to let Rachael see how much she's disturbed me. Because, besides Declan and my mother and a few other witches and wizards—none of whom would have any reason to harm my father—the only people with the kind of power to do something like this all belong to one group.

The Arcadian Council of Witches, Wizards and Warlocks.

It looks like Declan was right.

F
ury and fear rip through me as the idea sinks in. I think of all my conversations with Declan, my determination not to harm any members of the Council until we find out the truth. I could have let him end them all, but I didn't. And this is how they repay me? By trying to kill my father?

Why did it never occur to me before that something like this might happen? I've been so worried about Declan—about what he'll do and what the Council will do to him—that I never thought to worry about my family. To warn them. I didn't want them to worry, didn't want to deal with Jared and the rest of my father's security force camped out on my doorstep while he and my mother went after the ACW.

How could I have been so blind?
I ask myself as I continue to move Rachael down the hall. I have a ton of faith in my parents' abilities—they are two of the most fearsome witches I know—but still, I should have warned them. I should have listened to Declan, who knows these monsters so much better than I do. I complain about him not trusting me, but I didn't trust his judgment, either. I won't make that mistake again. Because if a few rogue Council members are responsible for everything that's been happening, then chances are my father won't be the only one who suffers. My mother, Tsura, Donovan, Rachael . . . No one is safe.

Guilt swamps me, but I push it away. There's time enough to deal with that later. Right now I need to talk to Declan, need to get his opinion on what to do next. Because if he's right—if one of the remaining Councilors is behind my father's mysterious illness—then the time for being patient, for waiting to see what develops, is past. We're already at war, only our enemy didn't see fit to inform us of that fact. The only question now is what we are going to do about it.

What I want to do is go back to Austin and assassinate the lot of them myself, before anyone else I love is hurt. Now that I know where their headquarters is, I could just sneak in and take care of things before anyone clues in to what is happening. I won't be like the people who killed Alride, won't need to put on a big show for whoever finds him. I could be in and out in under an hour and the Council would never be a threat to my family again.

Because the idea appeals to me more—way more—than it should, I force myself to let it go. To put it out of my mind. But no matter how hard I try, the thought remains deep inside me, couched in blood and darkness and something else. Something black and slippery and terrifying that I refuse to look too closely at.

We're almost at the end of the hallway, and I fight the urge to rush Rachael along. It isn't her fault I've screwed things up so badly. But when one of Jared's men sees us and comes running, I don't try to stop him from scooping Rachael up in his arms.

We start moving quickly then, and as we round the corner that leads to this wing's sitting room and the staircase, I'm already looking for Declan. It turns out he's right where I left him, looking more uncomfortable than I've ever seen him. A woman is sitting on the couch next to him, her arms wrapped around him while he tries to extricate himself from her embrace.

A bunch of different emotions hit me at once, but before I can do anything but stare, Declan pulls out of the embrace. Then he scoots back against the arm of the couch, obviously trying to put distance between himself and the woman currently clinging to him like Saran Wrap.

Considering the way she follows him across two cushions, I'm not sure she gets the message. Which is fine. I'll be happy to deliver it myself.

I start forward before I'm even aware of moving. I don't normally consider myself a possessive person—I never have been with any man before—but I find with Declan I am. Though I tell myself to chill out, there's a part of me that wants nothing more than to cover that bitch with honey and stake her over the nearest mound of fire ants in the backyard.

A quick glance at Rachael assures me she's in good hands, and after checking to make sure the guard is going to take her to her room so she can rest, I head into the sitting room. Magic is sizzling along my nerve endings—the first time that's ever happened to me when someone wasn't dead or dying—and I flex my fingers a few times in an effort to keep it under control. Inside me, the darkness gathers a little more. Throbs a little more in its bid for attention.

Once again, I shove it back down. After all, Declan doesn't look all that happy to see her, whoever she is. . . .

I've only taken a few steps when Declan catches sight of me. It could be wishful thinking, but I'm pretty sure the look that just flitted across his face is relief. Thank God. I'm not normally an insecure girlfriend, but considering who Declan is and the fact that I don't even know how to classify our relationship yet, a little insecurity seems pretty understandable. Still, he's here with me, not her, and I have better things to do than worry about some woman whose name I don't even know.

“How's your father?” he asks, climbing awkwardly to his feet. It's the first time I've ever seen him be less than supremely graceful and it raises a warning flag, despite the reassurances I'd just given myself.

“We don't know yet. My aunt Tsura's with him now.”

“Oh, you're one of Tsura's nieces?” The woman who'd been crowding Declan stood up as well. “I'm Irya, Tsura's assistant.”

Declan takes over, his voice as smooth and familiar as the arm he settles around my waist. “This is Xandra, my—”

“Girlfriend,” I fill in for him. “It's nice to meet you, Irya.” I sneak a peek at Declan, curious to see how he's handling the whole “girlfriend” thing. Surprisingly, he doesn't look the least bit shaken. Instead, he looks pleased . . . and maybe even a little smug. Maybe it's stupid to even be worrying about this stuff after we've already said the
L
word. All these semantics are just that. What's important is that Declan loves me and I adore him.

“No, the pleasure is all mine.” She extends a hand to me. “It's lovely to meet another one of Declan's girlfriends.”

My eyebrows shoot up at that and she blushes a little, stutters out, “I didn't . . . I just meant . . .”

Declan steps in. “Irya and I dated a long time ago. It didn't work out, obviously, but we've been friends ever since.”

He's looking at me, so he doesn't notice the flash of irritation that crosses her face before she can bury it, but I certainly do. She's playing him, acting all sweet and naïve in an effort to make him feel . . . what? I'm not sure. But it's obviously working, because Declan, smart, savvy Declan, looks uncomfortable—and extremely apologetic.

I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. I don't even know this woman and I can see through her.

“It's so nice to meet another one of Declan's friends,” I say, smiling as sweetly as I can. “Especially one with ties to Tsura. I imagine being her assistant must be kind of wild.”

“It's a whirlwind, all right.” Her voice is flat now, the mask she's wearing for Declan's sake beginning to crack.

Declan doesn't seem to notice it. But that doesn't matter, not when Declan excuses us with an impersonal smile and a few polite words. Then we're walking away, his hand on my lower back as he propels me down the three flights of stairs and across the foyer.

“Hey,” I tell him, digging my heels in before he ends up pushing me right out the front door. “What was that all about?”

He lowers his head, brushes his lips against my ear. “I don't like you near her. She's a barracuda.”

A weight I hadn't even known I'd been carrying around lifts from my chest. “I wasn't sure you caught that.”

He laughs. “Caught that? Xandra, I dated that. It took me two months to extract myself from her very sharp, very sticky claws. I have no intention of letting her sink them into you.”

“I'm not the one she's aiming for.”

“Isn't that the truth?” he mutters under his breath, sounding completely disgusted, and the last of my tension drains away. I'm obviously being paranoid. He's about as likely to fall back under Irya's spell as I am.

So what freaked me out so much? The fact that Declan dated before me? The man is more than three hundred years old. Of course he's dated. Besides, she's not the first ex of his I've run across since this thing between us started.

But she is the only one who's alive—his other ex, Lina, was the second of Kyle's victims. When I stumbled upon her down by Town Lake in Austin, I had no idea where everything was going to lead. Had no idea it was going to lead us here.

Declan finally comes to a stop in the small parlor my mother uses for guests who are waiting for a royal audience. He closes the door behind us, then pulls me into his arms. Buries his face in my hair. And just breathes.

“How's your dad
really
doing?” he asks long seconds later, his body a well of strength that I can draw from.

I shudder, press my face into his chest. And just breathe. He smells like sandalwood and cinnamon and warm, dark waters. If I could, I'd stay here forever, resting against him. Holding him as he holds me.

But not even Declan can destroy my family's current reality. “Not good. Rachael's all but killed herself trying to heal him—with absolutely no impact whatsoever. And my mother is in bad shape. I've never seen her so lost.” She's so strong, so sure all the time that it's strange, scary, to see her like this. My whole life, I've always thought that she was my father's anchor, the one he holds on to when things get rough.

Yet after twenty-seven years, it's strange to realize that it's the other way around. That he's what keeps her calm and settled and sure. Even stranger when I'm in the arms of the man who has quickly come to mean so much to me. Who is settling me, gentling me, just by his very presence.

I lift my head, wait for him to lift his. Then go up on tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his lips. Unlike so many of our others, this kiss isn't about passion, about need, about the bindings that continue to grow between us. It's about gratitude. Gratitude that he's here with me now, gratitude for all the things he's done for me—in the last few weeks and in the years when I had no idea what was going on.

I've carried a bitter fist of resentment with his name on it for years, one filled with anger and abandonment issues and fear that I'd never find another person who made me feel as he did. Fear that he'll leave me just when I let myself care for him again.

No more. He doesn't deserve my distrust or my fear, not when all he's ever done is put my needs first. I brush my lips over his again and say the words that are burning inside me. “I love you.” I'm so grateful that I can say them now, as often as I want.

He looks just as moved now as he did in the car. Then he drops his head so that his forehead rests against mine. Closes his eyes. Drags deep, shuddering breaths into his lungs. I tighten my arms around him, realize that he's shaking. “Declan—”

“Say it again.”

“I. Love. You.” I don't know why this is affecting him so much, when I've already told him.

“I thought things might change when we got back here. When you saw how your family reacted to me.”

“My mother doesn't get to tell me who to care about.”

“I know that. And I wouldn't let you go anyway. You're mine, Xandra Morgan.” His black eyes roam my face possessively. “And I will never let you go.”

I kiss him again. “Who says I want to go any—”

A huge boom—like the most vicious clap of thunder imaginable—rattles the house. “What the—”

Before I can finish, two more booms sound in quick succession. I'm still trying to figure out what's happening when Declan shoves me against the nearest wall and covers my body with his.

Seconds later, the wall disappears and we're falling.

W
ake up, Xandra. Please wake up.

I come to slowly, Shelby's voice little more than a whisper in the corner of my mind.
I'm awake, Shelby.

I'm scared.

Are they back? Are they hurting you?

No. Nobody's here.

You're alone?

Yes.

I'm sorry, honey.
I try to focus, to remember what I want to tell her. But my head hurts and I feel groggy, out of it. Like I'm sinking into a pit of quicksand. No matter how hard I struggle to get free, I only end up sliding deeper and deeper under the surface.
Is it dark?

Yes.

Are you okay? Does anything hurt?

A sad little whimper.
My leg.

I know, baby
.
I'm so sorry.
There's more to say, but I still can't remember what it is. Not while I'm drifting.

Xandra?

Xandra?

Xandra!

I'm here, Shelby!

I can't feel you.

What do you mean?

Normally I can feel you inside my head, ever since the first time you talked to me. But I can't now. You're going away.
She starts to cry.
I don't want you to go away.

I'm not going anywhere
. The words sound funny even as I say them, all the syllables slurred and running together.
Pretty soon we'll get to meet in person. I can't wait to talk to you face-to-face.

I don't think that's going to happen.

Why not?

I'm tired, Xandra. I'm tired and it hurts and I don't want them to come back. I don't want to do this anymore.

Alarm rips through my lethargy, reminds me of what I need to say.
Shelby, I swear, baby, we're looking for you. Do you know Nate? He lives on your street.

Officer Nate?

Yes, Officer Nate. He's a friend of mine and he's the one who asked me to help look for you. I told him what you showed me yesterday. The top of that building outside your window.

Officer Nate is looking for me?

He is. But he needs some help. When he got to the room you showed me, you weren't there anymore.

I know. They moved me yesterday.

Did you see where they moved you?

No.

Do you have a window in this room? Maybe you can—

There's no window.
Her little voice sounds completely forlorn.

“Xandra!” Another voice interrupts our conversation. “Xandra!”

I listen for a second, try to figure out who it is, what he wants. But the voice drifts away and so does my attention.

It's okay, baby. We'll find you.

I want my mommy.

I know, Shelby. She wants you, too.

The woman, she says my mommy doesn't love me anymore because I'm not a good girl.

Anger stirs.
Don't listen to her. Your mommy loves you very much and she really wants you back at home.

I want to go home.

Soon, Shelby. Soon you can go home.
I pause, give my pounding head a chance to settle down some. As I do, I think of the seven Councilors who are still alive. And wonder, again, what they want with Shelby. Obviously she has power—she wouldn't be able to connect with me if she didn't—but is that power worth bleeding her for? Worth killing her for?

Shelby, do you want to play a game with me?

I like games.

I smile at the childish enthusiasm in her voice. It's so much better than the hopelessness I heard a little while ago.
Me, too.

What's the game?

I want you to think really hard about the people who have been hurting you.

I don't like this game.

No, no. It's a good game. I'll list something about them and you tell me if I'm right or wrong. If I'm right, I get a point. If I'm wrong, you get a point. If you can tell me why I'm wrong, you get two points. Sound good?

What do I get if I win?

Hopefully freedom. When I asked before, Shelby couldn't remember anything about what her captors looked like, except that they were mean and scary. Now that I'm pretty sure she's being held by a Councilor, I'm hoping I can help her remember more about who has her. Not that there's any guarantee that she's actually seen her captor as opposed to just his or her servants, but still, it's worth a shot.

If you win, once you get home, I'll take you out for the biggest hot fudge sundae ever. And if I win, I'll still take you out for that sundae. How does that sound? It's a win-win situation.

I like caramel sundaes.

Caramel it is then. Whatever you want, the sky's the limit.

Silence for a moment, then,
Okay.

Great!
I think about the Councilors for a moment, remember what she said about the woman being the one who gave the orders. There are currently two female Councilors, so it seems as good a place as any to start with them.

The woman who comes to your room sometimes.

Yes?
I hate how scared Shelby suddenly sounds, any excitement she had in playing this game with me completely gone.

Does she have long red hair?

No.

Okay. That's a point for you.

Shelby giggles.
This is easy.

It is, isn't it? You can get another point if you tell me what color hair she does have.

It's black.

Good. That's another point for you.

Two for me, none for you.

You're right. I need to get on the board soon.
So, if the woman actually is a Councilor, then we're down to Vera Alradano—she's the only one with black hair.
Is her hair short?

No. It's long and curly like my mommy's. But it's not as pretty as my mommy's.

Damn it. Not Vera, then. Unless she's wearing a wig, but I can't imagine that she would be. Not when every instinct I have is screaming that there is no way she plans to let Shelby go. And if she doesn't plan on letting her live, then there's no reason to worry about a disguise.

That's another point for me, Xandra.

I know. You're really good at this game. Are her eyes brown or black, like her hair?

No.

No? Are you sure?

They're green, like my cat's. I don't like her eyes. They're mean and scary.

Wow. She sounds ugly.

She is! Like Cinderella's mean old stepmom. And she smells funny, too.

I latch onto that description, even though it might not mean anything. A lot of witches smell funny to nonmagical people, because of the herbs and incense used in rituals.
What does she smell like, sweetheart?

Like chewing gum from my mommy's purse.
Shelby starts to cry a little and I immediately backtrack.

Do you want to stop the game, honey?

I don't like this game.

Okay. Then it's done.

“Xandra!” The voice is back, more impatient—more frantic—than before. This time I can hear it better, can tell that it's rough, masculine. And it belongs to someone much older than Shelby.

Wait!
She calls out.
Don't go!

I'm not going anywhere,
I tell her. Except that doesn't feel exactly true. Already, my head is hurting worse and it's harder to hear her than it was.

Xandra, please. I'll play the game. Don't go! Please don't go!

She's crying again in earnest now, and, strange as it may sound, I can feel her clutching at me with her little hands. She's trying to hold me to her with every ounce of strength she possesses. I try to reach out, to hold on to her, but my hands won't move.

“Xandra!”

Every second that passes makes it harder and harder for me to hear her. The voice calling my name is getting louder now, more insistent. More anxious. I can't fight it any longer.

Xandra, please! Don't leave me.

I'll come back,
I tell her.
As soon as I can, I'll come back.

“Xandra! Goddamnit, Xandra, where are you?”

I wake up completely disoriented. I feel like I'm missing something, like I'm forgetting something important, but I can't figure out what it is. Instead, all I can focus on is the sound of Declan calling my name. Or to be more accurate, screaming my name. He sounds completely frantic, though I can't figure out why. The last thing I remember is telling him that I love him.

He calls my name again and this time I try to answer, but nothing comes out. It's as though my throat has forgotten how to work. Which doesn't make sense—weren't we just talking? I know I was talking to someone. I open my mouth, try again, and abruptly become aware that my lungs hurt, too.

What the hell is going on?
I cough a little, attempt to draw air into my lungs, but nothing happens. My chest doesn't move; my lungs don't inflate. Declan isn't the only one panicking now. Something is sitting on my diaphragm, slowly, painfully squeezing the last remaining drops of air from my lungs.

“Xandra!” Declan roars my name this time. “Come on, baby. Give me something. Move something. Where are you?”

Move something?
He's not making any sense. What am I supposed to move? And why? The only thing I'm really concerned about moving right now is whatever's sitting on top of me, keeping me from breathing.

There's a strange scrabbling sound above me, like someone is tossing things around. Then, suddenly, an electric charge rips through me. My whole body sizzles—something new to go with the aches—but at least I know what this is. It's Declan's magic, searching me out, though I still don't know why he's looking, or what happened to rip me out of his arms in the first place.

I can't help responding to his power—it clears my head, makes it impossible for me not to respond to the desperation I hear in his voice. Though it hurts, and every nerve ending I have is screaming at me not to move, I force my eyes open. Then really wish I hadn't. Because whatever is sitting on my chest is also covering my face. I'm buried alive in . . . I don't know what.

Panic finally sets in as I try to figure out how I got here—and how I'm supposed to get out. Though it threatens to overwhelm me, I beat it back. Right now, Declan is doing enough panicking for both of us. Besides, freaking out isn't exactly going to help my present circumstances. Not that I have any idea what will help at this point, but I know losing my head certainly won't. Especially when the dark is threatening again, my lack of oxygen making it harder and harder to think.

Knowing I have only one shot at this, I press my head farther into whatever I'm resting on and rock it back and forth a little. There's not much give, but I don't need much. Just enough to turn my head so I can try to take a breath.

For long, desperate seconds, I rock and turn, rock and turn, as my fingers start to claw at the rubble above me.

“Xandra!” Declan's voice sounds directly above me. “I've got you, baby. I've got you.”

Another shot of electricity rips through me and I finally manage to turn my head, to gasp in precious gulps of air. “Dec—”

I don't even finish saying his name before the rubble is gone, lifted off my face with one flick of Declan's powerful magic. A little while longer and the rest of me is free as well.

For long seconds, I just lie there gasping for air. Then Declan is kneeling next to me, his face dark and dangerous and more livid than I have ever seen it. He looks ready to kill something—or someone—but the hands he runs over my body are gentle in the extreme.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Can you move?”

Though my body aches all over, none of the pain is worse than the rest. Which I'm going to tell myself is a good sign. “I'm okay,” I gasp. I'm still sucking oxygen in like I've never seen the stuff before.

I reach out and grab onto his arm, use it to pull myself up.

“You shouldn't move,” he tells me severely, but in the end he supports me instead of fighting me. I think he's as desperate to hold me as I am to be held.

As his arms wrap around me, I ask, “What happened?”

“There was an explosion.”

“An explosion?” I know I'm looking at him like he's lost his mind, but his words just aren't making sense. “What exploded?”

He glances around the room. “If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say the whole damn house.”

This time when panic hits, there's no holding it back. My parents, my sisters, Donovan, my aunt Tsura—I try to scramble to my feet, but my legs feel like rubber. It doesn't help that Declan's grip has gone rock solid and immovable on me.

I shove at the arms I had welcomed only minutes before. “I need—”

“You need to sit here for a few more minutes. You've got a bump on your head the size of a racquetball and so many cuts and bruises that I don't even know where to start with trying to heal you.”

“My parents were upstairs.”

“I know,” he tells me grimly. “Give me a few minutes to take care of you and then I'll go check on them.”

He probes at a very tender spot on my scalp and I yelp, glare at him. He glares back. “That would be the racquetball. Now sit still and take it like a big girl.”

I grumble at him, but in the end, I acquiesce. Partly because I know I don't have a choice in the matter and partly because I feel absolutely awful. I won't be much help to anyone in this condition, so if Declan can help even a little bit, I'm willing to give him the few minutes he requested. As long as it's a very few.