by Elle Thorne
“Yes, I do.” Alara’s jaw was set.
Marco wasn’t sure he liked the look in her eye. It matched the resoluteness in her expression.
“Do tell,” he prompted her, hoping there was no measure of madness in her suggestions.
“I’ll enter him. As I did you. With stealth, and I’ll talk to the elemental in him.”
Jaron flew to his feet. “No.”
Madness, just as Marco had feared.
“That’s too dangerous,” Symone uttered, her eyes wide. “He could kill you if you enter his prison.”
Alara rose to her feet, her robes flowing behind her as she paced from one end of the stone floor to the other. “Why do all of you underestimate my skills? Why do you think I would attempt something that could be termed sheer folly?”
Marco grimaced. “Because it is?”
Alara whirled to face him.
“Hey—” He raised his hands. “Just calling it as I see it.” He lowered them and placed them on the table, palms down.
Symone put a hand on his. Her eyes beseeching him to—
To what, he wondered? To shut up? To not say what he was thinking?
He laughed softly, almost with derision. “She’s got a death wish, and I won’t see her do that to Jaron.”
“You do not determine my fate, Marco Brazos.” Alara’s eyes blazed with fury.
Marco turned to Jaron. “Have you nothing else to say? You can’t let her do this.”
Jaron’s face beamed with pride. “Let her? You think I am in control of Alara? She is an entity—a force, if you will—all on her own. She will decide what has to be done, and it shall be so. And I will completely support her.” He walked around the table and took Alara’s hand. “She has a dream. Our people will be together again. I will die trying to help her make that dream come true.”
Marco couldn’t believe his ears. He turned to Symone to try to get her to talk sense into those two, and—
I’ll be damn.
Tears streamed down Symone’s eyes as she gazed on the two lunatics.
“Seems I’m the only voice of sanity,” he whispered under his breath. In his mind, his panther was silent. Guess you’re on their side, too, then, he surmised.
Symone glanced at Marco. “What was that?”
He frowned. “Nothing.” Then, “Well, one thing. Are you supporting this? Her idea to go in there?”
“I’m not in support of it,” she started.
Thank you, the voice of reason.
“But I support Alara.”
So much for reason.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I take it you’re not?” Symone asked, her voice a barely audible whisper while before them Jaron hugged Alara.
“I wouldn’t want to see Jaron’s heart broken,” Marco told her.
“Oh, I get that. But it’s what she wants. And she’s got this greater plan—”
“Yeah, I know all about her greater plan. To get her people together. To give them somewhere to live. Forever after, happily ever after, or some sort of crap like that.”
She scowled at him. “It’s not crap.”
“It is if she dies trying.”
“Some people put a cause before themselves.”
“You sound like Circe. Just like her.”
“Who’s that? Your girlfriend? Oh, wait,” she snapped. “You don’t have a girlfriend because Jaron’s always cockblocking you.”
“Hey.” His cheeks turned a red hue. “Don’t get personal.” His voice was a low hiss.
“I apologize,” she murmured. And she meant it. She didn’t mean to do that. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to have another ally in this. She needed—no, actually, Alara needed—Marco on their side, completely. “Can’t you see, she has to free whoever is in there. She feels a duty to them, an obligation, just as she feels that she has to bring her people together.”
He nodded, but did not concede the point.
She tried another tack. “Don’t you see, they need our help. We can’t let them do this on their own. And if by helping we can keep her safe—”
His sigh interrupted her.
She waited. And waited.
Finally, “No, Symone. I don’t think we can keep her safe. I don’t see how we can help her, when she’s going to be in there, in a place that is deadly. And we will be on the other side or are you—” He gave her a look. “Tell me you aren’t thinking of going in there with her, of taking him on.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Yeah, don’t make it sound like you’re entertaining the idea now, please.”
“I’m not. I just don’t know what you think you can do to stop her.” She traced a pattern in the stone’s surface. “You can’t drag her out of here. You realize that, right?”
“Well—”
“Marco. She does magic, for Pete’s sake. She could probably kick your ass. And especially now that Jaron isn’t in there with you. Can you and your panther seriously be thinking of taking her on?”
“I’m not even sure my panther’s on my side in this battle,” he uttered, the words almost inaudible.
“Well, thank goodness, one of you has some sense.”
He glared at her.
And at that moment, something snapped inside her. More than any other time since she met him—all of a few hours ago, she realized, wryly—she saw something in this man that made her want to know him so much more. She wanted to know what he liked to do, when, what his favorite foods were—please, let it not be barbecue—and whether he was a morning person or a night owl, if he liked dusk, dawn, twilight, midnight, or what…
She froze.
Everyone was staring at her.
Marco. Jaron. Alara. All three watching her while she’d been lost in some damned reverie about the sexy man next to her.
She raised her brows. “What?”
Alara approached. “Marco said he’d get behind us on this.”
She jumped up. “What?” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yay!” Then she remembered who she was, where she was, and how she should be conducting herself. “Good.” She sank back down in her seat.
“I feel the same way inside,” Alara assured her.
Yeah, but you didn’t just act like a damned schoolgirl. And you’re not feeling giddy about this shifter.
“So what kind of plan have you come up with?” Marco asked Alara.
Thankful for having the attention pulled away from her, Symone took a deep breath and a moment to regain her composure.
“We will return. And I will breach the wards that keep him imprisoned and enter his body. I will be cloaked. He will not know.”
“Tell them the rest, my love,” Jaron pushed.
“What’s the rest?” Marco crossed his arms over his chest, as if bracing for bad news.
“My powers will be diminished from the cost of cloaking my presence.”
“What does that mean?” Symone realized that Marco was wise to brace himself. She could feel it; bad news was coming.
“It means I cannot leave his body until my energy—mana, power, whatever you want to call it—regenerates. And I cannot do anything to harm him or help the others. All I will be able to do is exist within him and speak to the one he is hosting. I do not think we can communicate with the one in the artifact. At least, I do not think I can risk trying it myself. And I do not know if Orimith will overhear if the other two communicate. I have no idea of the particulars of this arrangement.”
Symone’s head was spinning with all of the implications and complications.
Marco scrubbed at his face. “And we just agreed to this.”
“Yes,” Alara beamed.
“Shit,” Marco muttered.
Exactly, Symone thought.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hours and hours later…
Marco blew out a silent breath and looked at his watch, for what might have been the thousandth time. Jaron caught him in the act.
Marco frowned. “It’s been more than t
welve hours.”
Jaron nodded. “Closer to thirteen. I am going to relieve Symone. Alara should be back.”
it had been hours since Symone, Alara, Jaron, and Marco had crept forward, approaching Orimith—against Marco’s better judgment, but then again, what else could he have done but agree to it? Though at the back of his mind a voice kept insisting that he should have called Circe. She ranked higher than he did in the Order of Elementals. She was technically the one he answered to. He tried to convince himself that this was not an OE matter, that he didn’t need to consult with anyone.
And yet, in the back of his mind, that voice kept insisting that he should not be doing this alone. That it was an elemental matter and should be brought to the attention of the Order. Hell, if he were to be honest, all of it was an elemental matter. Alara’s very existence. Her objective to free her people and find for them a place to live.
Marco had kept his eyes on Alara, who was leading the way. She’d already instructed them that they were to stay behind, though Jaron had protested this greatly, and heatedly. She’d overridden his protests, telling him that this was the only way.
She said she wouldn’t have enough mana or energy to exit Orimith right away, but she’d regenerate enough in half a day and to give her twelve hours. Alara begged them to give her the twelve hours, then she’d be out.
They’d taken turns, one standing watch while the other two waited by the amphitheater with Max. Halfway through the twelve-hour stint, Marco and Symone had taken a trip to the kitchen where she’d prepared a basket with food and water. She’d also brought a leash for Max, because he’d nearly given them away the first time.
Symone was watching Orimith’s fortress. Jaron and Marco were sitting on the stone seats, with Max laying between them, his head on his paws, sleeping.
“I’ll go with you.” Marco stood.
Max raised his head, an inquiring look in his eyes. Then he sat up.
Marco put a hand on the dog’s head. “Stay.” He looped his extra-long leash around the stone bench’s leg. “We’ll be back.”
Max let out a little whine but lay down.
Marco scratched behind the dog’s ears, then rose to follow Jaron, who was already waiting at the path.
They reached Symone whose eyes were trained on the fortress. She shook her head, sadness in her eyes. Clearly, she could tell exactly what was on Marco’s mind—no Alara.
Marco beckoned her to approach. With one final baleful glance toward the dilapidated fortress, Symone trudged their way, her defeated posture mirroring Marco’s concern for Alara’s wellbeing.
She hadn’t taken two steps before a harsh voice boomed out.
“You may as well go. There’s no reason to wait for Alara. She cannot regenerate her mana. Not as long as I have my own enchantment in place.” Just then, Orimith appeared from behind one of the walls, a sneer on his face.
Symone’s jaw dropped and she whirled around. “You—you bastard! You—” She lowered one knee, like she was poised to run toward him.
Marco sprinted forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her back toward the path. He hadn’t managed a handful of steps before Jaron darted past him.
Shit! Marco let go of Symone and snatched Jaron’s arm. Symone froze, then grabbed Jaron’s other arm. They barely managed to draw him away from the fortress to the footpath.
The entire time, Orimith’s laughter broke the forest’s peace.
Jaron was wild-eyed and panting. “She cannot. He—” Jaron leaned forward, retching and heaving.
Symone stared at Marco. “What are we going to do,” she uttered.
Marco shook his head. “Jesus. I—hell, I don’t know. Let’s go back there.” With a nod, he indicated the general area where Max awaited. They needed to regroup and figure out what the hell they were going to do. Was Alara now a captive? What about Jaron? How long could he survive outside of Marco’s body? What would happen to him? Would he vanish—poof, disappear into thin air—or would he shrivel up and die? They needed to talk about all this. And Alara. And how to save her. And how did Orimith even figure out she was in there? How was he keeping her from regenerating mana? All of these questions were like an angry hornets’ nest that had been stirred up.
Symone still looked shell-shocked. Pretty much how Marco felt.
They reached Max, and Symone dropped to her knees, holding the canine and sobbing into his fur. Jaron’s hands shook as he scrubbed his face repeatedly, constantly murmuring words foreign to Marco.
As for Marco, he watched the scene before him unfolding, unable to completely process the full extent of what had happened. “What’s this mean,” he asked Jaron. “Is Alara his prisoner? Can she not come out now?”
Symone looked up from where her face had been buried in Max’s coat. Her eyes were bloodshot, red splotches marked her cheeks. “I don’t know what—how could this have happened?”
Jaron shrugged. “I need to go help her.”
“You can’t.” Marco put a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t let you.”
“You cannot stop me.” Jaron scowled.
“Wait.” Symone rose and stood in front of Jaron. “Listen to me. First of all, how long will you be able to stay outside of a host? How much more time do you have?”
Marco raised a brow. “Exactly. You won’t do Alara any good if you’re dead. Or whatever happens to you when you’re not in a host.”
Jaron scowled at the two of them. “I do not know. I am no expert in this matter. I need to enter the Barabin and help her.” He half-turned, poised toward the path. “Now, if you are done—”
“Not by a long shot.” Marco’d had it with Jaron’s bullheadedness. “You need to get back in here.” He pointed to his own chest.
Jaron shook his head. “I will not.”
“What good are you to her if you are dead? If you die in that Barabin bastard’s mind, if he kills you while you’re there? Or what if you’re not in any host and you just flat-out die. Imagine what that will do to Alara.”
Jaron’s expression of ire turned melancholy. “I cannot fathom the pain that would cause her. It would be the way I felt, long ago when I lost her.”
Symone stepped forward. “Exactly. Let’s use our heads here. We have to do what’s right for the both of you. Plus,” she chewed on her lip, “we don’t even know that she’s in a losing situation, right now. Just because Orimith said something to make us think so.” Her face turned sour at the mention of his name.
That name brought the same reaction in Marco, but he wasn’t sure about her theory. Why else would he do that? Then again, what if Alara was holding her own. What if she was fine, but just couldn’t get out because she hadn’t built up enough energy. He studied Jaron. “What if she’s okay? What if she’s just using her energy for something else, and that’s keeping her from being able to port out of him?” He wondered if the word port was even the right word for something like that. Ah, hell. Who cared at a time such as this.
Jaron nodded slowly as though processing Marco’s theories. “Using her energy for what?”
Marco shrugged. “No clue. Maybe battling him? Maybe healing one of the others?”
“She does specialize in healing,” Jaron added.
Marco wasn’t aware of that. He wondered what else Alara specialized in, but this wasn’t the time to get into that. As optimistic as he tried to sound, he wasn’t sure there’d be an Alara at the end of the day.
“There you go,” Symone added. “So you can’t just go jumping into Orimith. You need to think clearly, not react.”
“Perhaps the two of you are right.” His shoulders dropped in defeat. “But if I go into you, Marco, then I will be stuck there. And if I need to go for Alara, I will not be able to. I will have to stay within you.” He began to pace frenetically. “I will stay out here as long as I am able to.”
Marco stared at him in disbelief. To think, he’d thought that he’d had Jaron convinced, and now he was back to these foolhardy ways. “How will you know
when it’s too late?”
“I do not know.”
“We need to get in there. To check on Alara. To help her if she needs help,” Symone said. “But how?”
Marco paused. He had an idea. Should he mention it? What the hell. Why not. What did they have to lose? “Circe. My sister. She can go in just as Alara can. But she can’t cloak. I don’t think she even knows how. So, Orimith would know she’d entered.” Marco found himself pacing where Jaron had been pacing a few moments earlier. He whirled around. “Or… she can take them into her world instead of joining them in the Barabin’s elemental world.”
Jaron scoffed. “What good would Circe do now? She is in Denver. And anyway, what if they die in there?”
“Don’t say that.” Marco scowled at Jaron then turned to Symone. “The plane that brought me here. The one that took Cedric and Jenner out. How likely is it that it can grab Circe in Denver and bring her down?”
“Very likely. I can make it happen,” Symone said. “Call your sister and tell her to wait at the Denver airport.” She paused. “But we can’t get reception down here. Must go up.”
“I will wait here,” Jaron stated.
Marco had a million arguments against that idea. “But—”
Jaron raised a hand, effectively shutting Marco down.
“We’ll be back,” Symone promised.
“You better be here,” Marco threatened. “And breathing.”
Jaron gave them a half-smile, though it was clear his heart wasn’t in it. His heart was with Alara—wherever she was.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Symone tapped her nails on the counter, then looked at the clock on the wall in the root cellar of the villa.
Marco put his hand over hers.
When he did cover her hand was when she realized she’d been tapping so quickly.
“I’m sorry. The waiting’s killing me.”
Marco squeezed her hand lightly. “I know. Me too.” He glanced at his watch.
Symone had heard him leave two messages for his sister Circe already. She was itching to get back down to Jaron as much as he was. She definitely understood his anxiousness.
