by T. M. Cromer
“Please understand.”
“I do. I’m less than thrilled about it, but I do.” She rose and walked to where he sat. Threading one hand through his hair, she tipped his head back. “You’d better come back to me, Alastair Thorne. If you brought me back only for me to live the rest of my life without you, I’m going to be irate.”
He grinned and drew her flush against him. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.”
“I knew it.” Joy filled up the empty parts of his soul.
She laughed and lowered her mouth to his. Her kiss drugged his mind and made him forget everything but her. Only she had the power to scramble his thoughts. Good thing he never let her suspect as much.
He ran his hands up her sides and cupped her breasts. She moaned into his mouth. With the utmost reluctance, he eased her away. “When I get back, you and I are going on a long-overdue vacation. Just the two of us. No family, no drama. Just you and me, naked on a beach somewhere isolated.”
“When you get back, I’m going to make love to you in such a way as to make you lose your mind.”
When she said things like that, he almost did lose his mind. “Why wait? I can make more time before I go.”
“No, you need to go make plans with Ryker. But make sure his head is on straight before you rush into trouble. If one of you is injured or killed because he’s not one-hundred percent…” She trailed off, her expression worried.
“All will be well, my love.”
“That is eerily similar to what you said when you left me to go after Zhu Lin. Only then, I didn’t know what you had planned.”
He rose and hugged her, resting his chin on her head. “Promise me you won’t come charging after me this time. You know where I’m going and what’s at stake. Stay here, where I know you are safe.”
“I will.”
He pulled back and met her gaze with a steady look.
“Fine,” she muttered. “I promise.”
Alastair crushed her to his chest again. “Thank you for having faith that I will bring your brother home, Rorie.”
She traced the loop on the Ankh amulet resting against his skin. “I don’t think there is anything you can’t do once you set your mind to it, darling. I suspect it’s why Isis placed her trust in you to wield your magic for the betterment of others.”
“Perhaps.”
As he held her, Alastair felt a sense of dread, uncomfortable and unfamiliar to anything he’d experienced in the past. Was this an early warning for what was to happen, or was it an echo of what had?
“Wait for me.”
Her head whipped up to stare.
“If I disappear like the last time, don’t presume I’m dead. Wait for me. I’ll find a way back to you no matter what it takes.”
A simple text to Preston and to Ryker had the men assembled in the study. Preston strolled around with interest, touching objects as he went.
“How did I never know this place existed?”
“It was intended as a secret stronghold for the family. The location is passed only to the firstborn child from a parent.” Alastair shrugged. “I imagine it was so the secret would stay safely hidden.”
“Why didn’t ownership get transferred to GiGi when we thought you died in the war?”
“Magic.” He wiggled his brows and grinned at his little brother. “Really, our great-grandfather was still alive. I didn’t receive notification of this place until about ten years ago when he passed on. Since the three of us weren’t really on speaking terms…”
Alastair trailed off. The break with his family had been harder on him than he cared to admit. Where once the Thorne family unit had been close, that had all ended when he had returned hale and hearty to reclaim his lost love. When Aurora chose to remain with Preston, Alastair had taken a bad turn. Not a point in his life he was proud of, but he couldn’t regret his son, Nash.
“Regardless, I’m sharing now, and if anything should happen to me, it will transfer to Nash. But should you ever have need of it, it’s here for your use.”
“You’re too mean to die,” Preston teased with a laugh before turning serious. He gave a slight shudder. “Let’s not talk of death this close to a mission. It gives me the willies.”
Alastair almost said “me, too” but refrained. What was it that was bothering him, he couldn’t say. Instead, he turned his attention back to the matter at hand.
“Okay, from what we can gather, Jace is being held by Sebastian Drake.”
“Sebastian Drake? Isn’t he angling for a high seat on the Council?”
“Exactly, which is why he abducted Jace. His plan seems to be to trade Jace for me to turn me over to the Council.”
“I don’t understand. First, why would he ever believe you would put yourself out for Jace Fennell? And secondly, I thought the Council backed off years ago?”
“I would imagine the witchy rumor mill has let it be known that Aurora is alive, well, and looking to have me make nice with her brother.” Alastair grimaced and leaned back in the high-back leather chair he currently occupied. “As for your other question, I’m sure the only reason the Council refrained from coming after me was because they knew I’d tear their organization down around their ears should they continue to plague me.”
“But now they think Drake is up for the job of taking on the Thornes?” Preston laughed. “Whose crazed idea was that?”
“Drake’s. His ambition seems to outweigh his intelligence.”
“Or someone is putting him up to this,” Ryker inserted from his spot beside the fireplace.
Alastair rose and walked to where his friend sat brooding over his drink. “If you had to guess, who would that someone be?”
“My guess? It would be the person who hates you but still maintains the most influence on the Council.”
“Beecham,” Alastair said flatly. Harold Beecham was the third highest ranking position on the ten-person panel and had been outspoken in his desire to imprison him. The man had tried every means possible to stir up trouble between the Council and Alastair.
“That would be my guess,” Ryker said. He drained his glass. “Beecham was in love with my sister, Trina. He’s never forgiven you for the fact she chose you.”
“Makes sense,” Preston murmured.
“I think you should know, word on the street is Beecham has been working behind the scenes to create another uprising.”
“Dear Goddess!” Preston exclaimed, echoing Alastair’s own thoughts. “Why has the Council not taken action against him if that is the case?”
“Proof. Georgie Sipanil has tasked a few of us to see what we can find on the down-low. The last thing we need is another war for supremacy, and Councilwoman Sipanil knows it.”
Alastair smiled slightly. Georgie Sipanil was a lovely woman. She was well into her nineties but looked like a woman only half her age. Quick-witted and shrewd, she was nobody’s fool. It helped that she liked him. He suspected she was the main reason the Witches’ Council had never declared open warfare on him, most members still deferred to her wisdom.
“Remind me to send her a bottle of my best Scotch,” he laughed.
“I should’ve known. You’ve bewitched her, too, you old dog,” Ryker joked.
“She once had a thing for our father. She’s actually into ginger-haired men.”
Ryker and Alastair looked at a startled Preston.
“You might be the man to charm her, Pres.”
“My days of charming anyone are well over,” he protested good-naturedly. “But a fellow might share a bottle of Scotch with a lonely lady.”
Alastair laughed and clasped his brother on the back. “That’s my boy. Get her location from Ryker and see what she has to say about all this. While you’re doing that, we’ll pay Drake a visit.”
“Is that a good idea if he wants to capture you?”
“Normally, I would say no. But according to his sister, Arabella, he’s heading to London for an art auction.”
&n
bsp; Preston’s frowned. “Should I ask why his sister is going behind his back to feed you information?”
“It appears she has befriended Rorie.”
Preston’s expression darkened. “I don’t want her involved, Al. She’s just returned and isn’t strong enough.”
The urge to snarl and snap was strong, but Alastair shoved it back. Preston had a right to voice his concerns for Aurora’s welfare. Still, it rankled.
“She’s not involved in any way other than to communicate with Arabella,” he said with more patience than he felt. He couldn’t resist adding, “Give me some credit, Pres.”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m still sensitive over what the children went through, not only with her loss, but with the tasks you assigned them to revive Rorie. I couldn’t bear it if another person got hurt.”
“I understand. You and I are on the same page. I’m not comfortable with anyone else taking risks on my behalf. I wouldn’t ask you or Ryker either, if I had any choice.”
“You didn’t ask. I volunteered,” Ryker countered.
“We’ll meet back here tomorrow afternoon to compare notes.”
Preston and Ryker nodded their agreement.
“Shall we join the ladies for lunch?”
Ryker magically refilled his tumbler. “I’ll pass. You two go ahead.”
Preston paused with one hand on the door. “You intend to hide out here the whole time?”
“Yes.”
The brothers shared a look, and Alastair silently urged Preston from the room. He turned to face his morose friend. “Ryker.”
“Please, Al, not now.” He took a large swallow of his drink. “If I have to attempt to sit through lunch, I’ll likely lose my cookies at the ridiculousness of it all.”
“You belong together.”
“Do we? As much as it pains me to admit it, I think she’ll be happier without me.”
“Bull.” He charged to where Ryker sat and grabbed the drink from his hand. “Tie her to a chair and show her the truth if you have to.” He conjured a parchment with a tried-and-true spell to reveal the past and slapped it in his brother-in-law’s palm. “You are one of the only people who is stronger and craftier than she is. I have faith you’ll win her back in the end.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” Alastair headed for the exit. “Oh, but might I suggest you finish your business first? Start with a clean slate.”
19
Sebastian Drake was exactly where Arabella had said he would be: taking afternoon tea in the Claridge Hotel’s tea room. Although Alastair had been here before, he suspected Ryker had not.
As a well-trained spy, Ryker’s curious gaze would miss nothing as he scanned the cream-colored walls with the arched openings, the columns, the elegantly set tables with their white tablecloths. Green-and-white-striped dishes were the standard place setting, with smartly folded napkins resting on the plates.
Without regard for etiquette, Ryker and Alastair made their way to Drake’s table and took a seat, halting the man mid-bite of his scone.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
Drake’s dark-eyed gaze darted around the dining area before focusing on Alastair. He paid no heed to Ryker, who reached across to pick up a sandwich quarter to sniff and pop in his mouth, following it up with a sip of Champagne from the crystal flute in front of him.
Alastair shrugged and straightened his cuffs. “I thought we needed to chat.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Right now, or in general? Because you and I have plenty to discuss. First and foremost, the release of Jace Fennell.”
A subtle shift came over Sebastian’s rugged features, and he sat back in his chair, a wide smile taking up residence on his face. “I’ll be happy to release him if you will take his place.”
Pasting on a bored expression, Alastair sighed. “Do you honestly think you are the first to believe they could use me as a means to gain power? I’m sorry to disappoint, but your hopes are about to be dashed.”
An ugly emotion flashed in Sebastian’s eyes. “Arabella.”
“Pardon?”
“I should have known, but who would have thought the great Alastair Thorne would send his own sister to seduce information from me.”
Ryker stilled, and a dark flush of anger colored his cheeks. Their eyes connected, and Alastair silently urged caution with a small shake of his head.
“Actually, I didn’t,” he told Sebastian in a bored tone. “It seems the females of our families all have minds of their own. But I imagine the information is no less correct.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve compiled a list of Jace’s activities that are in direct opposition to the wishes of the Witches’ Council. He’ll be tried for his crimes.”
“And what would those crimes be?”
“That’s for Council eyes only.”
Straightening the silverware in front of him, Alastair cleared his throat. “I’ll make you a deal. If you release Jace, I won’t destroy you and everything you hold dear.”
Although the blood drained from his face, Sebastian’s half-mocking expression never changed. “You don’t want to make an enemy of me, Thorne.”
“This dangerous game you are playing isn’t setting you up as an enemy, Drake? From where I sit, it does.”
“And it isn’t just Alastair you need to worry about,” Ryker added. “Or haven’t you heard he’s back in his family’s good graces? Did you know his future son-in-law is a Carlyle? Or that his other daughter’s husband has the power of a god?”
Holding up a hand to silence Ryker, Alastair smiled widely. “Now don’t go scaring the poor man, Ryker. I’m sure he took all this into account when he decided to screw with me.” He sobered and met Drake’s wary gaze. “No?”
His latest enemy remained silent, no doubt trying to come up with a way to extricate himself from his current predicament.
“I’ll tell you what. I’m going to give you twenty-four hours to think about it. In the meantime, my dear friend Jace should be treated with great care.” Alastair produced a business card and flicked it onto Sebastian’s plate. “My number for when you are ready to see reason.”
Without a backward glance, he and Ryker exited the hotel.
“Nicely played,” his friend murmured.
“Thank you. Now, let’s have a bite to eat ourselves.”
“Italian?”
“Perfect. Afterwards, we’ll check into our rooms.”
“You look happy, Al,” Ryker stated out of the blue.
Alastair glanced up from the papers he was currently pouring over. “To be doing paperwork?”
Ryker barked out a mirthless laugh. He lounged, a drink in hand and a leg over the arm of the club chair he occupied. His dark hair was disheveled. Lines of strain bracketed his eyes, and bitterness dimmed his brown irises to almost black. His friend had never looked so tired or acted this out of character.
Setting aside the business papers, Alastair rose, walked to the sideboard, and poured himself a drink. He sat in the matching chair next to Ryker. “Want to talk about what’s going on between you and my sister?”
“No.”
“I could use your help, Ryker, but if being this close to GiGi is going to tear you up like this, I’ll find another way.”
“I thought Thornes only loved once.” The raw, achy quality in Ryker’s voice struck a chord within Alastair.
“We do.”
“Then she never loved me, or she’s the exception to the rule.”
“She’s not an exception,” he said firmly, hoping his friend would get a clue. “She’s a woman scorned.”
“I never betrayed her, Al. Never once.”
“I believe you. She, however, doesn’t see it that way.” As he watched his friend’s outrage drain away and self-pity take its place, Alastair came to a decision. “You need to go through with the divorce. Don’t fight her.”
Ryker’s head whipped up.
&
nbsp; When he opened his mouth to speak, Alastair held up a hand, forestalling him. “Give her what she wants. Wipe the slate clean. Then move on with your life—or at least pretend to. I know my sister. It will drive her insane. She won’t be able to help interfering with your new life.”
Amusement lit Ryker’s eyes, and he laughed. “You are an evil genius.”
“You aren’t the first one to tell me so.” He stood and returned to his desk. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
“Good night, my friend.”
“Good night, my friend,” he parroted.
The early morning light peeked through the crack in the hotel blinds and woke Alastair from a restless sleep. He wasn’t sure whether it was mostly his own problems or the problems of those around him that kept him awake the majority of the night. Either way, he’d been unable to quiet his thoughts.
Two things needed to happen today. One, he needed to put the squeeze on Sebastian Drake, and two, he needed to locate Victor Salinger as the ace up his sleeve in the event Drake didn’t want to bargain.
After a restorative shower and coffee, he removed a small scrying mirror from his case. With a wave of his hand, he checked his loved ones. All was as it should be at the Thorne estate. His children were well in their North Carolina homes. Holly and Quentin were snuggled together on their sofa, their new baby girl tucked snuggly within the crook of Quentin’s arm. They shared a look of love and returned to staring at their daughter. Little Francesca was the spitting image of her father but still managed to have her mother’s angelic perfection. It was doubtful, if they were up at this hour, their baby was being anything close to angelic.
Alastair smiled. He remembered those days.
Next, he checked on Rēafere’s Fortress, locating Aurora in the master suite. He found her cuddling his pillow close. The image made him grin, and he swiped a finger down her reflection.
She smiled sleepily and said, “I can feel your presence, darling. Good morning.”
He picked up his phone and whipped out a text. “Good morning, my love. I hope to see you in person this afternoon. So far, so good.”
