by Anise Rae
Allison stomped back inside. The potionness stood against the wall, mouth gaped open. She stared at Bronte, horrified, and then took off after her mistress.
His mother gave a small sniff. “I apologize for that. Allison had a trying day. Her home is here, but her heart is with her father. He’s rather…ill. Please don’t let her influence your decision to come to the concert tonight. Allison’s gift is almost as rare as Edmund’s and even more useless. Without that potion, she can only see the auras of dark powers, not the light powers. It’s a very unfulfilling ability. There are no other aurist mages registered in Rallis Territory, light or dark. No one will think twice about what you are.”
Bronte’s stare locked on the far edge of the table, her eyes clouded with anger for him. He did not regret his words. She belonged to him as much as he did to her.
She lifted her eyes to his mother. “Forgive me, but I don’t believe you that no one will notice my power. Not if I’m out in the open. The goddess help me if anyone else learns about my power. Going to the symphony, as much as I would love to hear that music…” She paused and sighed, lost in thought for a moment. “Too risky. Besides, bringing a Non to an event like the symphony will tarnish your reputation at the least.”
His mother arched a brow. The added smile softened the haughty expression. “I assure you, my reputation can withstand you.”
“It doesn’t need to be risky. We can slip in discreetly, hide you among us.” He could give her this. He took her hand. They’d held hands thirteen years ago, too. “You’ll be safe.” He’d make sure of it. “And don’t let Allison scare you away. You belong here.”
“Why? To syphon off your excess vibes? To serve your needs? No, thank you. I already have one set of masters. I don’t need another. No matter how you make me feel. I am done being under the control of a mage.” She stood and pushed in her chair.
He put his napkin on the table and stood with her.
“No, dear.” His mother patted Bronte’s hand. “We’re not—”
“Mother. I’ve got this.”
She stood, folded her napkin, gave a nod with a closed-lip smile, and went inside.
“Bronte, I don’t want to control you. I just want to be with you. You said syphons aren’t like the fairy tales. You’re right. I’ve studied them. There are cases of syphons throughout history who lived peacefully, happily with other mages. Give me a chance to prove it to you. Not all mages are like your parents.”
She shook her head as if shedding his words. “This isn’t history. This is my life. I’m not going to risk it. Thank you for lunch, but I am leaving now.”
Every hope of making her want to stay swirled down a deep, dark drain. He’d played his only ace. If she wasn’t interested in what he’d learned through hundreds of hours of research on syphons and if the connection between them couldn’t lure her in, then he was out of bait.
But she wasn’t leaving.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
She stared back with her chin tilted up and arms crossed over her chest. “A motel. Until I’m allowed out of this territory.”
He kept his voice free of mage vibes, but the intensity of his words remained the same. “You will stay here.”
She jerked her hands to her hips. “My pass states I must stay within Rallis’s borders. Not in this house.”
He took a deep, slow breath. He had only one option against her stubborn refusal to give him a chance.
Wariness slid over her face.
It didn’t stop him from crushing her illusions of getting away. “Your sponsorship is currently under Rallis authority. Therefore, your actions are subject to Rallis approval. You stay here.”
Bronte swallowed hard. She took a shaky breath, blinking as if something had fallen in her eyes. “My parents would admire your methods, Vincent.”
5
Bronte stomped down the pebbled path toward the west tower of Rallis Hall, where, according to Vincent, a servant had tucked away her car. Vincent had suggested they drive to his house since it was a mile farther into the estate. A sensible plan. But she’d darn well take her own car.
He followed two steps behind her angry pace—exactly where he could stay. The heat of her fury melted every word she might have spoken to him anyway. Arguing would change nothing. She was stuck under the thumbs of twice the usual number of mages. Instead of just the Casteels, the Rallises ruled her, too.
She rounded the tower and spotted her old Volvo. It rested in the shade cast by the stone manor. A gleaming black pickup truck sat next to it. Bronte hurried to her car as if to defend it from the heavy shadows of the Rallis power. The Volvo was her only ally, her sole means of escape from too many mages all blessed with so much power a single one could crush her whole life. The strike of her heels on the stone sidewalk broadcast her anger at all of them. Only one was around to hear it.
“I’ll drive.” Vincent’s assured tone yanked at her last thread of restraint. Apparently he wasn’t listening to her shoes.
Leaping off the stone walkway to the gravel parking area, she ran. Her long strides bunched her skirt around her thighs. She made it to the car, spun around and sprawled her arms and body across the driver’s door.
He was still a dozen paces behind, his pace steady and dignified compared to her frantic flight. His assured demeanor only fueled her ire.
“I. Will. Drive. My. Own. Car.” She yanked the door open, jumped in the seat and slammed the door shut before he replied. With a rhythmic tapping of her fingers against the steering wheel, she fumed as he walked around to the passenger side. Temptation gnawed at her, daring her to peel out and mar the perfectly raked gravel with a pair of skid marks.
Vincent gave her a raised eyebrow, staring at her through the windshield as if he could read her mind. Her violin case hung from his right hand. Driving off before he could get to the passenger side, step in with his long legs, and sit his hard ass down wasn’t an option. She might have found some silent humor about his hard ass since it reflected part of his personality in addition to his physique, but her bitterness got in her way.
Ignoring him as he slid into the car, she cranked down the window to alleviate the stifling heat. She was afraid the small, enclosed space would intensify everything she absorbed from him. But it didn’t. The connection between them remained steady. Finally, one thing in her favor.
Bronte stabbed the keys in the ignition and drove out of the parking area. Gravel crunched under her tires. She turned left onto the paved private road that would take her farther into Rallis land, the opposite direction she wanted to go. She’d never been to Vincent’s house, but this had to be the way. He wouldn’t live near the border of the estate. No, he would live deep in the heart of the land, the better to keep out as many strangers as possible.
The better to keep her in.
Thick silence flooded the car’s interior. Vincent sat perfectly still, his head cocked to one side. His vibes poured out.
She soaked them up like a sponge with an infinite capacity to absorb his energy. Too bad the rest of her was maxed out on him.
The pavement ended a half-mile from the manor house. Twin gravel paths, one for each tire, branched off to the left. With nowhere else to go, she turned. The trail meandered back and forth through the woods. Her anger lent a heavy foot to the accelerator—too heavy for the bumpy road. The car went in and out of a deep pothole. The Volvo’s shocks gave a loud squeak. She didn’t slow.
Vincent stayed silent, probably because he could deflect the energy of a crash should she get too reckless.
He controlled everything. Including her.
Resentment lifted its head inside her, like a seedling erupting from the ground. She’d worked hard all her life to keep that seed of bitterness unfertilized, in parched ground, so it wouldn’t grow and dominate her. Vincent had stirred it up anew by stealing control over her life, even if only for the short term. She wished she could stop syphoning his power. An impossible wish. Syphons were feare
d partly because they could not shut down their power.
“Bronte.” His tone was matter-of-fact, calm and quiet.
She took a breath. Her chest puffed and deflated. “Hmmm?” Her closed lips vibrated with the sound. If she opened her mouth, the bitterness might spill forth.
“Your car is out of tune.”
Shock opened her mouth for her. She took her foot off the accelerator with a bent knee and stomped on the brake until her leg locked straight. She turned to him, her face so tense the muscles nearly twitched in protest. All the while he sat calmly in his seat, as if he’d expected the force of her stop. He probably had. It would be next to impossible to surprise a deflector mage with any kind of physical force or energy.
“That’s why you’ve been so quiet? You’ve been sensing my engine?”
“I can tune it for you.”
A thousand bitter words clogged her mouth. She choked on them. Finally a few spat forth. “No! You’ve done enough!” She wrenched open the door. Its ugly groan made it sound as if the car was on his side, moaning, Yes! Please tune me! She slammed it shut and stalked off.
She heard him get out, though his door neither squeaked nor moaned. The car, her only ally, had turned traitor. She marched on, as if she might walk away from everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.
A stream of energy brushed against her ankle like a delicate lasso. She broke its hold with a single step, only to have it happen again. “Stop that.” She tossed the words over her shoulder.
“It’s not me.”
She spun around, ready to argue, but stopped. He was right. It wasn’t coming from Vincent. Something was in the woods. Its energy sent a serene sparkle into her syphon. From her spot on the rocky road, she peered into the trees. Whatever it was, it emanated the most marvelous energy. Her anger swept away on a wave of wonder.
Vincent closed the distance between them and walked around to stand in front of her. He stroked the back of his hand against her cheek.
“Give me a chance. That’s all I want.” His gentle words matched his touch.
“You want more than a chance.” She focused past his shoulder, peeking over his superior height. Tall trees reached scantily clad limbs into the crisp, blue sky and hid whatever shed such glorious vibes.
“I can’t be sorry about this.” He brushed her cheek again, his focus burning through her. Unlike her, whatever lurked in the woods didn’t call to him. “Since I came into my power, I’ve learned to grab on to every bit of good life offers. I sensed you the moment you arrived today. I recognized that tug on my energy as if I’d known you my whole life instead of a handful of hours thirteen years ago—your syphon reaching out and tapping my energy.”
“Yes, like a pipe channeling waste into the sewer. Useful, I’ll give you that.”
“You mock this because you’re afraid of it. But I’m not.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who’d face the fire. But she didn’t want to talk about this.
“What is that…power?” She pointed into the woods.
He sighed. A temporary surrender.
The little waves of energy tickled at her with delicate caresses of energy. An airy huff drifted out of her throat, almost a laugh. “It’s different from you.”
“It’s the Rallis mark, the gyre.”
“The gyre is your mark?” She knew about the special marks that claimed the land for the founding families. Each family had its own mark, but she’d never known they could be this powerful. During today’s meeting, she hadn’t truly understood what the senator and the Double-Wide letter referred to concerning the Rallis gyre.
“Why can I feel it?”
“Its energy’s frequency is close to mine.” Vincent watched her, stern and earnest. “The gyre’s really intense right now. No one can go in.”
“Mage vibes don’t bother me, remember?” She patted his shoulder in consolation. Between his vibes and the gyre’s, the energy in her syphon filled her, loosening her every constriction, as if she’d turned to marshmallow. She wanted more.
“I’m going in.” She walked forward, her gaze on his for a few steps. She arched an eyebrow at him as she stepped past the first tree.
He darted after her. She ran. He caught her in two steps and hugged his thick arms around her. “It’s too dangerous to go in there. It’ll burn up a mage’s sense in mere minutes.”
She slid her arms from his grasp and pushed away his hold. She didn’t fool herself. He allowed her to slip free.
“We both know I’m not the average mage. You’re not stopping me. I need to go in there.”
“When the energy is this high, just driving by here gives me a pounding headache.”
“Then wait in the car. It’s not giving me a headache. I’ll be fine. And it’s not like I can escape since you have the car. My papers are in there anyway.” She walked off. Her heels sank slightly into the soft ground with each step.
His vibes pulled even with her before she was six paces away.
“Don’t come if it’s going to hurt you,” she said.
He shrugged. A touch of pink brightened his cheeks. The tough colonel blushed. “I think…if I stay close to you, it might be enough to keep me from getting sick.” The last words came in a rush. Such a powerful man wouldn’t like to admit to such weakness. “I’m fine right now. That’s never happened this close to the gyre when its energy is this high.”
She gave him a small smile. “Alright, Colonel. I’ll hold your hand and keep you safe.” She reached for him. His hand engulfed hers, but she was the strong one here. The rush of his mage power into hers warmed her from the inside out. His energy stirred her in places that had lain dormant since that handful of hours behind a garden shed years ago.
She glanced at him from beneath her bangs. His eyes had gone dark, his blush erased. In its place was heat, desire. It wasn’t longing or yearning. This was hard, demanding. The connection between them was potent and heavy and much too intense for her. She turned her back on him and took one step. Their hands stretched apart. Before she took another step, an ugly thought itched at her mind.
“Wait. The body is in the gyre. Will we see it?” Stumbling over her grandfather’s body would ruin every pleasant feeling the gyre fed her.
“I don’t know. If I were hiding it, I’d put it in the cave, not out in the open. Although I’m not sure even a Non could tolerate going down there.” He shook free of her grip and put both hands on her shoulders. “Listen to me. If you truly can get into the gyre, you cannot tell anyone. Not until we have a solid alibi for you on the day your grandfather died and the night his body disappeared.”
“I did not steal the body.” Betrayal and hurt tumbled through her. “Nor did I kill him.”
“I know you didn’t. I believe you.”
Bitterness opened the hatch for her spiel. “I didn’t even know my grandfather was dead until I heard it on the radio. I haven’t seen my family in thirteen years. I spoke to my mother yesterday for the first time since then. I want nothing to do with them. I certainly have no desire to touch a rotting body, much less move it.” She shivered and then let her shoulders slump. The quick verbal dump had rinsed out her starch. “I’m sure I have some witnesses who will verify I was somewhere in Chattanooga working when he died.”
Her rant echoed silently through the trees. The soft rasp of dead leaves dancing along the forest floor accompanied it. His lips were pulled into a thin line, his eyes gone dark with pity.
“Don’t.” She shook her head. “I’ve cut them from my life.”
“But they haven’t cut you from theirs.”
“And I can’t change that. You can’t either. You said you’ve learned to grab onto the good in life. Well, I have too. I grab what happiness I can as I roll with their whims. I’ve learned to keep my head down, to move in whatever direction they push me. That’s how my life works and how it will continue to work.” With that, she grabbed for his hand, spun around and pulled him in her wake.
She trekked through the thick buildup of dead leaves and sticks, determined to find the source of that energy. Nothing would stop her. Not high heels, not a dead body, and not Vincent.
She wobbled over a big stick buried beneath the leaves. He slowed their pace. She lost her footing again, a small hole this time, and her ankles teetered on her shoes.
“Maybe we should come back later. When you have better shoes.”
“Now.” She looked up at his hawkish profile.
He scanned their surroundings—right, left, and back again. The colonel was on duty.
She high-stepped through the woods to keep her heels from snagging against tree roots and fallen branches. Her cheek brushed against his shoulder as she stumbled again. It was a bumpy walk. He pulled her hand into the crook of his elbow. She leaned into his offered support.
“What exactly is the gyre?”
“It’s the Rallis mark on this land, the source of our territory’s energy. Each family’s is different. Our mark is both above and below ground. It forms a cave that spirals down into the earth. The story goes that a Rallis created the mark on top of the land, and the goddess blessed it with her energy from within the land. My ancestors took it as a sign they’d settled in the right place.”
“It must be huge to emit this much energy.” She looked up at him. Despite his worry about the intensity of the power, he looked at home in these woods. She shrugged. “I don’t know much of the Casteels’ history, but I think the High Council moved them further west at least three times. Their marks on the land got smaller each time, as if they didn’t want to spend much energy on creating one only to be forced to move again. The Casteel mark is a pool. A small, shallow one. It has a rock in the center. There’s no power in it.”
“No, you’re wrong on that. All marks have power. You’re just not tuned to the Casteel mark. And thank the goddess for that or your parents might have guessed what you are.” They walked past dappled trees as he explained. “Our mark was created by an ancestor so powerful she could disperse weather systems. Or so the story goes.”
