by T. M. Cromer
“You also made a promise on your wedding day,” Alastair reminded him gravely. “And yet…”
“I’ve maintained my vows,” Ryker snapped. “Just because we live apart doesn’t mean I’m not aware of her every movement or that I’m not seeing to her welfare.”
“And how do you keep the loneliness at bay? Other women?”
“Really? You’re one to ask?”
“With the exception of the time Aurora decided to honor her marriage to Preston, I was faithful to her.”
“Why would you believe I’ve been any different?”
Alastair shook his head. Ryker had made a perfect point. “I’m sorry, my friend. I didn’t mean to question your commitment to my sister.”
Ryker flipped open the lid of his lighter and squinted into the distance. “Think nothing of it.”
Shifting closer, Alastair rested a hand on Ryker’s shoulder. “Can you not resolve your differences?”
“No. I work for the Witches’ Council. She is opposed to any organization that doesn’t allow her to run about hairy-scary, dispensing magic as if it were candy. There’s also the matter of the imagined betrayal. I can’t live with a woman who doesn’t trust me.”
Alastair could well understand Ryker’s reasoning. Wasn’t he dealing with a similar situation himself?
Ryker tapped into his thoughts like a homing pigeon to its roost. “Why are you here? I would’ve thought you and Aurora would be making up for lost time.”
Alastair laughed bitterly. “It appears she didn’t want to come back.”
“Christ!”
“Exactly. All those years I spent walking the line between right and wrong…and she doesn’t care.”
“I find that hard to believe, my friend. She took a bullet for you.”
“And she’s told me she regrets it.”
“I’m sorry, Al.”
The funny part was that Ryker sounded like he meant it. And why shouldn’t he? “We’re two peas in a pod, aren’t we, old boy?”
“Indeed we are,” Ryker agreed. “Shall we get drunk?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Alastair conjured a bottle of fifty-year-old Scotch—his drink of choice—at the same time Ryker conjured a bottle of his favorite brandy.
“To what shall we toast?” Alastair asked before taking a sip.
“How about to stubborn-ass women who don’t know what the fuck they want?”
“That’s an excellent one.”
The two men clinked the bottles together and drank from the lip of their respective decanters of alcohol.
Alastair closed his eyes and savored the smoothness of his Scotch. “Goddess, I feel I could drink this whole blasted bottle and still not numb my mind to this day I’ve had.”
Ryker snorted and guzzled more brandy. After he let out a hearty sigh, he said, “Yes, well, multiply that by about five thousand eight hundred and forty days, and you might get an idea of how well my life is progressing.”
“Our next toast should be to our ill-fated lives.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Ryker agreed with a clink of glass against glass.
Both men downed another long swallow of booze.
“To the end of Zhu Lin. May that bastard rot in hell.”
Another tap of the bottles. Another long draw of pull.
“To—”
“Well, aren’t you two a pathetic display of manhood?”
Alastair swung his head in the direction of the newcomer. His sister stood in all her elegant glory with her hands resting on her hips. The wind had picked up and stirred her long blonde tresses, along with her flowing purple dress. GiGi was a sight to behold and a force of nature in her own right.
“What is it with people sneaking up on me today?”
“You’re getting old,” Ryker muttered.
“As if you saw her coming!” Alastair retorted.
“I felt her. A distinct pain in my ass,” his friend countered, upending his brandy into his mouth.
GiGi’s indignant gasp caused Alastair’s bark of laughter. “Give over, sister. You had it coming.”
She threw one last glare at her husband then pointedly ignored him. “Preston is looking for you.”
“I’m not that difficult to find.”
“You don’t need to be an ass for the entirety of your life, Alastair.”
Ryker gained his feet to tower over GiGi. “Go away, woman. Can’t you see we’re drinking here.”
Hurt flashed in her violet-blue eyes before she quickly hid her upset. “I don’t believe I was speaking to you, you drunken fool.”
Rage, unlike Ryker had ever expressed in front of Alastair, flooded his friend’s features. “You don’t know when to shut up, do you, darlin’?” The endearment resembled more an insult to the people present.
“And you don’t know when to—”
GiGi’s comeback was cut short when Ryker hauled her close for a kiss.
Alastair decided now was the best time to bail. These two had long-overdue issues to clear up. Maybe wild monkey sex was the answer to all their problems. After all, if Ryker had gone over fifteen years without, the poor bastard had to be feeling itchy and out of sorts.
Alastair waited one more second to be sure GiGi was okay with her husband’s aggressive attentions. It appeared she was if the arms snaking around Ryker’s neck were any indication. If not, well, he was confident she could hold her own. As bitter and angry as he was, Ryker would never truly hurt the woman he loved. Not if he wanted to live another day on this green earth.
As he strolled toward Thorne Manor, Alastair strove to mentally prepare himself to see Aurora again. Without a doubt, she’d be at home when he visited Preston. If this wasn’t history repeating itself, Alastair didn’t know what was.
Thirty-two years ago he’d walked this same path, anticipating a warm welcome home. Only, he’d found his lover married to his brother with two small children clinging to her skirts. The sight of his little niece Autumn, the spitting image of his beloved little brother, had very nearly driven Alastair to his knees on the spot. His heart had cracked wide open that day.
It had taken time to heal the wounds they’d inflicted with their marriage. While those wounds had scarred over, they weren’t completely knitted together. Now, it seemed only a scab existed in place of the scar. A scab that had been ripped off when Aurora woke and declared her disdain for Alastair. Once again, his heart lay open and bleeding.
“What am I doing?” he asked aloud. “I should be heading for a tropical island somewhere. I could grow my hair and live in a bloody shack on the beach. Drink my days away and live in peace.”
But there was no peace. Not without his Rorie. It was why he’d asked Isis to take him back with her to the Otherworld tonight. He didn’t want to live in a world without Aurora’s love. He’d floated by during her stasis, believing she cared for him. She had to, right? She’d stepped in the path of a bullet meant for him. Yet now, seeing her affection turn toward hatred, well, it didn’t bear thinking about.
As he approached the estate, he paused and rested a shoulder against a giant oak that bordered the property. Maybe he was lonely or just feeling overly sentimental, but the lights of the old Victorian manor beckoned him. The house seemed alive, pulsing and full of vitality. Still, he remained where he was. Always the outsider of their perfect family. The proverbial black sheep.
With a grimace, Alastair lifted the bottle of Scotch to his lips. He needed much more fortification before walking through those majestic mahogany doors.
5
Aurora watched the lone man propped against the tree, swigging alcohol like water.
Alastair.
She traced his outline on the glass pane in front of her. What had she done to lose his love? Sure, she’d been a little testy after waking from her slumber, and without a doubt, she’d treated him poorly upon more than one occasion. But the Alastair she’d known would have seen through her bluster and soothed her objections with t
easing and a warm smile.
His love certainly hadn’t stood the test of time, had it? She was glad her eyes had been opened to the truth today.
As she started to move away, she noticed his head come up and swivel in her direction. Across the wide expanse of lawn, she could feel his burning regard. He lifted the bottle, as if to toast her, and took a long sip.
Disgusted, she turned her back. Whether her feelings were directed at him or herself, she refused to examine. As soon as she was stronger, she intended to return to her homeland. Her daughters were grown and had found their mates. Soon enough, they would be starting families of their own. She already knew Holly had recently given birth to a daughter, and according to Summer, three more of her five daughters were pregnant.
So much had happened during Aurora’s absence. It boggled the mind. It was doubtful any of them would need or miss her should she return to her homeland. Although she should be present for the birth of her future grandchildren, she wasn’t sure she deserved to be. Already, she’d failed Holly, having been too sick to attend the birth of Francesca.
However, should Aurora’s other kids want her here, it was a simple matter of teleporting back. And if her powers never fully returned, a single phone call to Preston or Summer would earn her a magical ride back to the States.
Having mapped out a small part of her future, she drew down the covers on the bed. She was exhausted from the day’s events. This was the longest she’d been out of her wheelchair, and her legs felt like jello. It pleased her to know she could manage without that beastly contraption if she needed to.
The air crackled around her, and she had no time to react before a sinewy arm encircled her waist. She gasped at the shock of Alastair’s vibrant touch.
“What are you doing in this room, Rorie? Shouldn’t you have taken your place in Preston’s bed tonight?” Alastair whispered harshly.
“Go to the devil!”
“I’ve been. Seems he doesn’t want me either.”
His fingers caressed her concave abdomen as if he were loath to release her. Yet release her, he did but not before he buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply.
“Why does my brother wish to see me? To inform me to leave you in peace? I could have saved him the bother of a summons.”
“Go away, Alastair.” She spun around and half-heartedly shoved at his chest as she glared her anger.
“Ah, yes. Your standard comeback, my dear. Careful, you’re starting to sound like a broken record.”
“You sicken me.”
“And there it is; the flip side of the album. Ah, the constant refrain is grating to the ears, but I suppose you need time to warm up the vocal cords.” His heavy-lidded gaze dropped to her throat before settling on her mouth. “Although, if we’re being honest, your new husky voice is sexy as hell. To hear you cry out your ecstasy would be true music to the soul.”
Aurora’s breathing quickened in answer to the sexual overtones. Alastair still had it within his power to make her body respond regardless of how tired and achy she was. A simple look or touch, and she craved the release only he could bring.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”
His gaze sharpened. “Is that an offer, Rorie, my love?”
“I told you not to call me that,” she snapped.
With infinite care, he released her.
“Right. No nicknames or endearments. Got it.” A flash of something undecipherable came and went across his harsh features. He strode to the door and paused before he opened it. “Had I known you truly didn’t wish to return, I’d have left you to your slumber. I foolishly believed…” His shoulders rose and fell with his heavy sigh. “It doesn’t matter what I thought, does it? You’re back, and I can’t change that now. I can, and will, leave you alone. I wish you nothing but happiness, Aurora. Truly.”
Alastair waited a few heartbeats for her reply, but the words were locked within her throat. She could no more express her feelings in that moment than she could upon waking. The coldness took over and returned her to numb.
From her view of his profile, she noted he closed his eyes briefly then flashed a bittersweet smile. A single nod and he left through the door. At once, her emotions flooded into the gaping hole of her soul. She wanted to call him back. Wanted to rush after him and pour out her feelings. But what good would it do? Too much time and bitterness lay between them.
When he left, Alastair took with him the oxygen from the room. Aurora found it difficult to breathe and rushed for the French doors. She yanked them open and sucked in multiple lungfuls of the cool night air.
Unable to stand another second on her shaky legs, she sank to the chaise lounge. Her thin nightdress was no match for the chilly spring evening, and she shivered from the cold. She didn’t possess the strength to return to the room for a wrapper or blanket.
Oddly, she wasn’t surprised when, from thin air, a thick comforter settled over her shoulders. It seemed Alastair would continue to take care of her needs whether she wished him to or not. Such was his sense of responsibility.
As she snuggled into the blanket, she thought she detected the merest hint of his scent. Burying her nose into the material, she sniffed. Scotch and spices. She closed her eyes and took comfort from the familiar smell.
When Alastair left Aurora, he paused to regroup. It wasn’t long before he heard the sound of the connecting doors open to the balcony. Instinctively, he knew she’d failed to dress for the weather. The woman had always been impulsive. It seemed nothing had changed. Because she was still too thin from her illness and because her ability to magically warm herself had gone by way of her other magic, Alastair cloaked himself to check on her. Sure enough, she sat huddled on the lounge chair, shivering like a newborn fawn.
Unable to leave her to catch a chill, he conjured a quilt to cover her. As he looked on, she sniffed the fabric and rubbed her nose against it. Her half-smile created a terrible ache in his chest. She used to do that in her sleep when she snuggled into their pillows. It was as if she dreamed of the moment he’d return to their bed.
He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I love you,” he told her, certain she couldn’t hear him. “I’ve loved you from the moment I set eyes on you.” He squatted beside her. He thought about their younger years, when they’d met at a social function put on by the magical community. It had taken one glimpse of her, and Alastair never wanted to look at another.
As teens they’d been inseparable, each sneaking off and teleporting to meet the other. Then, when the Vietnam War broke out, he’d had the bright idea to fight for his country. She’d tried to talk him out of it, but he was full of piss and vinegar in those days, determined to be patriotic and serve. He’d left her with a rose and a kiss, promising to return.
“I returned from that ill-fated war in Vietnam, only to find I wasn’t considered a hero for going off to join my fellow countrymen. One look at the protestors after the horrors I’d seen…” He huffed out a breath. “I had to get away, so I went to England to find you. I wanted the polar opposite of Nam. Somewhere cold and civilized. When I found you at that small cafe in London, sipping your tea and reading a book, I almost wept with relief.” He smiled in remembrance. “Do you know, I still don’t recall the blasted title of the book you were holding? Moments like those should be frozen in our memories, down to the last detail. But all I could see was your beauty. Oh, Rorie,” he whispered her name in reverence. “You were so beautiful.”
His eyes ran over her delicate features as she stared out over the horizon. What did she see in the darkness? Was she lost in the past, like him?
“You didn’t know it, but there must’ve been at least a dozen men staring at you that day. Some, like me, were looking to escape the horrors of the war and reconnect with sweethearts. Others were stopping for their morning coffee before heading off to work.” He shook his head and followed her line of sight. “But to a man, they all froze to watch you. I’m not sure why you chose me, but I’ll be forev
er grateful you did. Despite the fact you don’t want me in your life anymore…” He cleared his throat of the building emotions. “Despite that, I don’t regret a second of our time together.”
Alastair rose to his feet and resisted the urge to touch her. “I’ll find your brother. I suspect that is what Preston wishes to speak to me about. I’ll find him for you, my love. Then my debt to you is paid. Regardless of what Isis has said, I won’t pursue a woman who doesn’t want me.”
He turned on his heel and left Aurora to her own demons. He had enough of his own to exorcise.
“We could use a location spell.”
Preston sighed and shook his head at Summer’s suggestion to find Jace Fennell. “We tried that, remember?”
“No, we created a spell to see the past. It isn’t the same thing.”
“If a spell could’ve found your uncle, child, I’d have done it years ago.” Alastair’s voice startled them both.
Preston didn’t want to think about how relieved he was to see his brother. When Alastair had disappeared from his own mansion, Preston knew real fear. Aurora might not have recognized the desolation and recklessness in his brother, but he certainly had.
“I was worried about you,” he confessed gruffly.
Surprise lit Alastair’s countenance. “I’d have thought you’d be happy to finally have me gone for good.”
“You’re my brother.”
“And I’m sure there were plenty of times you wished otherwise,” Alastair said as he strode farther into the kitchen.
“Stop it, Al. We’ve come too far.” The truth was that Preston was tired of fighting. Tired of resenting his brother because Aurora chose him. Tired of feeling like the fill-in between the time they believed Alastair to have died until the time he’d return, hale and hearty, to reclaim his lover.
Alastair’s sapphire gaze connected with what Preston hoped was his own earnest stare. Whatever his brother saw eased the tension.
“Of course. My apologies, little brother.”
Prior to the accord they’d established recently, it was more than thirty years since Alastair had called him little brother. Every time Preston heard the words, they filled a place in his heart. Unable not to, he surged forward and embraced his sibling. For the span of a few seconds, Alastair remained frozen. But eventually, he returned the hug. His brother’s tight embrace spoke more than words ever could. With a hard pat to the back, Alastair released him.
