Soulbound: A Lone Star Witch Novel (37 page)

“Why? What did you do the Council that pissed them off so much?”

“I didn’t listen to them, refused to let them control me. They didn’t like that, especially considering the magic I commanded.”

“So they cursed you?”

“They bound me, and my powers, to one of the few Hekan families that would have a chance against me.”

“But you just said they wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“The Council didn’t know that.” His smile flashes, as wild and wicked as I’ve ever seen it. “For all we know, they could have been right. Your family might not have been able to destroy me, but you’re a different story.”

“Because we’re soulbound.”

“No. Because of you, and the power you wield.”

I start to give him my same old tired spiel—the one I’ve spouted to my mother for nearly a decade—but I stop before any of it leaves my mouth. Because it isn’t true, not anymore. My power may be unconventional, and untrained, but it exists. Even now, I can feel it seething right under my skin, waiting for another chance to strike.

Still, what he’s suggesting is absurd. “There’s no way I can destroy
you
.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Please. I can’t do one-twentieth of what you can do.”

“Magic tricks aren’t everything, you know.”

I snort, refusing to buy what he’s selling. “I wouldn’t exactly call what you do magic tricks.”

“I stand on a stage and perform for an audience. What would you call it?” He sounds self-deprecating, but he’s
watching me closely and I know my answer means more to him than he’s letting on.

“Amazing. I’ve never seen anything like your show the other night.”

“Really?”

I roll my eyes. “Stop fishing for compliments. You just finished telling me how powerful you are, which means you know exactly how astonishing your magic is. Besides, it’s obvious how much you enjoy what you do.”

When he doesn’t respond, I ask, “What did I say wrong this time?”

“Nothing. I just never thought of it that way—as something I enjoy.”

Now I’m confused. “Why else would you do it, then? You can do anything.”

He ducks his head, and for the first time since I’ve known him, Declan’s cheeks are pink—like he’s blushing. Then he admits, “If you want the truth, it started as a kind of fuck you to the ACW. You want to take my powers, you want me to keep my magic hidden? Screw you, look what I can do.”

“And now?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it in years. It’s just something I do because…”

“Because you like it. You like sharing your magic—”

“I don’t
share
my magic. With anyone.” The darkness is back, causing a shiver to work its way up my spine.

Despite my fear—or maybe because of it—my tongue is firmly in my cheek when I say, “Except for me, you mean.”

His teeth grind together, but there’s a light in his eyes that tells me he’s not as upset by the prospect as he lets on. “Except for you.”

The lamp on my front porch flickers on and I can see Lily standing there, watching me anxiously. It won’t be long before she’s storming the car, ripping me out of Declan’s
“evil” clutches. And I find I’m not quite ready to say good-bye yet. Not when I’m getting glimpses of a Declan I’ve never seen before.

“You want to come in?” I ask impulsively.

He raises a brow. “Come in?”

“For dinner. I’m not sure what we’ve got, but I’m certain I can whip something up fairly quickly.”

Now both brows are up. “You’re going to
make
me dinner?”

“Well, not if you look at me like that, I’m not. I have been to culinary school, you know. I won’t poison you.”

His flush deepens. “That’s not what I meant.”

Exasperated, I start to ask what he did mean when it occurs to me that Declan might not have had anyone make him dinner in a long, long time. I try to discount the thought—after all, he’s rich, handsome, charismatic, powerful. Everywhere he goes women stand in line for a chance to get to him. And yet, there’s a loneliness about him, a solitary vibe that tells me he rarely lets anyone get as close as I’ve gotten these last couple of days. Which makes the way he defended me against Ryder—his brother and best friend—even more significant.

Suddenly, I’m a little shaky myself. I’m also completely resolved to getting Declan to stay for dinner. After everything he’s done to keep me safe these last couple of days, a home-cooked meal is the least I can do.

Climbing out of the car, I head around to the driver’s side and open Declan’s door as well. Then I tug him out of the low-slung automobile and up the walkway to my house. “Come on,” I urge as he puts up what feels like a token protest. “I have a couple of great bottles of wine I’ve been saving. We’ll pop them open, cook something delicious and pretend this whole nightmare is behind us. At least for tonight.”

Declan slips an arm around my waist, pulls me close.
And I know that, at least for a little while, everything is going to be all right.

That is until I look back toward my front door and realize Lily’s no longer standing there. Donovan is. And he doesn’t look happy.

B
eside me, Declan stiffens. His arm tightens around my waist, but I’m not sure if he’s doing it because he thinks he needs to protect me or if he’s staking some kind of claim. To be honest, neither motive impresses me. I start to shrug him off, then stop because I’m afraid it will be the excuse Donovan needs to pounce. And the last thing I need right now is a throw-down on my front walkway—especially between two of the most powerful beings I know.

“Let go,” I hiss at Declan as we approach the steps. He does—after several excruciating seconds—but he doesn’t look happy about it. Not that I care, as I’m more than a little pissed at this point myself.

I take the stairs two at a time, start to brush by Donovan. But he grabs my arm before I’m halfway through the door, anchoring me in place. “Where the hell have you been?” he demands. “Lily and I have been worried sick about you.”

Behind me, I feel Declan shift menacingly, and I hold out a hand to him in the universal stop gesture. I don’t need him to fight my battles for me and the sooner he gets that through his thick head, the better off we’ll all be.

Surprisingly, it works. Declan doesn’t move, though I can feel his power seething in the air around us. It’s more than a match for the angry magic pouring off Donovan.

“I was down by the lake, checking out the crime scene
again. Declan was doing the same thing and he offered me a ride home.” It’s not quite the whole story, but enough of it’s there that Donovan shouldn’t be able to sense an untruth. “If you were worried, why didn’t you scry my location?”

“I tried,” he answers. “I couldn’t get a lock on you. It was like something, or
someone
, was deliberately hiding you.” He glares at Declan as he says the last and it’s obvious who he blames for the spell’s failure. Declan just shrugs, keeps his face blank. But I can feel the tension rolling off him. He isn’t taking Donovan’s revelation any better than my brother had. Of course, Donovan’s too tied up in his own distrust and anger to realize that Declan’s no threat to me. At least for now.

I try to slip past Donovan a second time and once again, he blocks me. Annoyed now, I get in his face. “This is my house. I’d like to come in.”

“And you’re my sister. I’d like to know you’re safe.”

We stand there, nose to nose, for long seconds until Lily finally breaks it up. “The delivery guy from Z’Tejas just pulled up. Unless you want him to call 911, I’d suggest the two of you back the hell off each other.”

Though the words, and the tone she delivers them in, are casual, there’s a look in her eyes that says enough is enough. Suddenly, it’s like a clean breeze invades my consciousness, driving out the anger and aggression and letting me see myself, tensed up and braced for a fight with my beloved brother.

This isn’t me. I’m no pushover by any means, but all this crackling aggression without purpose is so not my style. Nor is it Donovan’s really. The worry is obviously getting to us.

I take a deep breath, step back. Lay a gentle hand on Donovan’s arm. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. The last thing I want to do is worry you.”

He blows out a long breath, then pulls me in for a
quick hug just as the delivery guy makes it onto the porch. He’s carrying two big bags and the smell emanating from them is amazing. I reach for my wallet, but Declan already has his money out.

“I invited you to dinner,” I tell him. “I’ve got this.”

He hands the money over—two hundred dollar bills, which is obviously too much for our order—then takes the bags. “Too late,” he tells me, heading for the kitchen without a backward glance.

“I don’t like him here,” Donovan hisses at me as we watch his back.

“Well, I do. So get over it.”

Dinner can only be described as a tense affair, what with Donovan glaring at Declan, me glaring at Donovan and Lily glaring at me. My roommate hates tension in our home and right now, the air around us is so taut that I think a deep breath might shatter it.

The only one who seems unaffected by it all is Declan, who eats his steak and drinks his red wine while grinning across the table at me—like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he isn’t the main focus of a police investigation determined to run him to ground.

I spend most of the meal pushing my food around my plate and praying for the excruciating experience to end. Neither Declan nor Donovan seems in any hurry, though, so by the time my brother finally lays down his fork, I’m wound more tightly than a jack-in-the box.

Springing up from the table, I start clearing away the dishes.

“Don’t worry about it, Xan,” Lily tells me, a steely look in her normally placid eyes. “Donovan and I will get this before I leave for Brandon’s.”

Normally, I’d argue—fair division of labor and all that—but tonight I just nod. Then grab Declan’s hand and all but drag him down the hall to my room.

“Can you enchant this thing?” I demand as I slam the door shut behind us, suddenly furious. How is it my brother can make me feel like a recalcitrant teenager with nothing more than an arch of his brow?

“What thing?” Declan asks, obviously amused.

“My door! I don’t trust him not to barge in here in twenty seconds with the suggestion that we all play charades or something.”

“Charades?”

“It was my favorite game as a kid.” I switch on the lamp next to my bed, then turn to face him. He’s leaning against the wall near the door and in the dim light, he looks even darker and more dangerous than usual—if that’s possible. My heart jerks a little in my chest, skips a beat, and I wonder vaguely if I need to get it checked. In case the virtual beatings I’ve received in the last couple of days have somehow knocked it off-kilter.

But then the left side of Declan’s mouth kicks up in that little half smile of his and I admit that the skipped beat has nothing to do with anything but him. It’s a big admission for me, and it scares me a little. I can feel myself falling for Declan, surrendering to the sexual tension that stretches between us, taut as a circus high wire. But I’ve been here before and last time it ended with me so emotionally devastated I could barely get out of bed in the morning.

Which, I admit, is better than dead. Still, is it stupid of me to run straight back into his arms? Am I just setting myself up for the kind of heartache I promised myself I would never feel again?

I am. I know it as surely as I know that I’m not going to do anything about it. That I can’t do anything about it. Not at nineteen, not now and probably not ever. I don’t know if it’s because we’re soulbound, but Declan feels like the missing piece of me. Like I’ve been walking around for twenty-seven years with a chunk of me not
there. Suddenly, here it is, filling me up, making me whole, and I know that no matter what happened eight years ago, I’m not going to turn my back on him now. I can’t, any more than I can turn my back on the power that has so recently begun to manifest inside of me.

What I’m thinking—and feeling—must be written all over me, because the smirk abruptly fades from Declan’s face. Then he’s pushing away from the wall and stalking toward me—stalking me—with a single-minded intensity that takes away the last little bit of breath I have.

He stops at the end of the bed, rests a hand on the ornate, iron footboard, and just looks at me. Like most predators, he likes to play with his prey before pouncing.

But I’m no one’s prey, and haven’t been for a long, long time. I stand up, start to close the distance between us.

Declan holds a hand up—whether to stop me or beckon me closer, I don’t know. And I don’t care. If he’s warning me off, I don’t want to hear it. Not now. Not tonight.

I’m only a couple of inches from him when I stop, close enough that if I take a deep breath my breasts will brush against his chest. Too bad I’m incapable of anything but the most shallow panting right now.

Heat is sweeping through me, from my toes to my sex, from my arms to my breasts, until just the simple act of existing becomes an erotic event. I don’t know what’s going on, can’t figure out what’s happening. I want Declan, I know that, but I’ve wanted men before. Wanted him before. And it’s never felt anything like this.

Like my clothes—and my skin—are too tight.

Like even the most simple movement will shatter me.

I know Declan feels this strange, inescapable draw as well. I can see it in the darkening of his already midnight eyes. Hear it in the ragged breaths being torn from his chest.

I reach for him—I can’t help it—and he flinches away from me.

The agony of rejection slices through me and I start to pull away, but it’s too late. Magic—swift and unexpected—whips through me. It snakes out of my fingertips, winds through the inches between us and arrows into Declan.

Seconds later, an answering power—dark, rich, overwhelming—slams into me. It envelops me, overtakes me. Wraps itself around me and fills every corner of my being until all I know, all I am, is Declan.

I have a brief flash of clarity—realize that this is a power exchange at its most mystical and elemental—and then Declan is on me. Or I’m on him. I’m not sure who moves first, and I don’t care. All that matters is getting Declan inside of me.