by Tanya Holmes
“I’m not amused, love. I’m giddy. That I might finally get a grandchild out of you has me over the moon.” Her brows furrowed. “Why do you look so glum?”
Braeden yanked himself from the dark place he’d gone. “Everything isn’t lollypops and kisses. You’re ignoring the part about her lying her way into my house. Oh, and the psychotic ghost. Let’s not forget about that.”
“Trust me, I haven’t.” Mirth lightened her voice. “But I prefer to concentrate on what matters. She’s in love with you. That much is obvious.”
“Do you even hear yourself? This…maddening obsession with grandchildren has addled your brain. And anyway, it’s your fault she’s here. Had you done a proper background check, I wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
“How is it my fault you can’t keep your pants on?”
He tore around. “You’re forgetting the other possibility, Angela. She may be dying.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just an optimist, but go ahead and wallow in your pessimism if it makes you feel better.”
He was about to say something rude when his watch chimed. Flicking his wrist, he noted the time and scowled. He had to be in D.C. in an hour. He set his drink aside and headed for his dresser.
Angela stared after him. “So did Xavier agree to Seal her?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“What do you think? It’s Xavier we’re talking about.”
“He’s a lot of things, but negligent isn’t one of them,” Angela said with conviction. “He won’t abandon his child.”
Braeden tore into a drawer. “It’s the Join. He’s frightened of it.”
“Did he say that?”
“He didn’t have to,” Braeden told her. “It was written all over his face.”
Angela nodded in silence. He didn’t doubt she understood Xavier’s fear. As their mother, she knew the risks, but she’d said on more than one occasion, the alternative—of them dying apart—was unthinkable. For decades, Angela had deeply mourned Ian, her only son. So to say she supported the Join would be a massive understatement.
Seventy-plus years after the bitter split, they would come together again. The question remained. Where would Braeden and Xavier go? Would one absorb the other? Or would it be like the last time: with the twins completely autonomous?
Or would they be lucky enough to become a true One—with both of them alive, self-aware, merged in solidarity, and blissfully happy? Well, in a perfect universe, yes, but Re-Joinings were different for every Yoreck. Since the procedure was highly risky, some were successful, while many others resulted in psychosis and even death. A mad immortal with any number of supernatural abilities was a dangerous combination, which is why they quarantined newly Re-Joined Yorecks for weeks, sometimes months. It was a time-tested safety measure.
Braeden shook off his concerns and reminded Angela what was at stake. “Yes, the Join is daunting, but I’ll keep repeating this. It isn’t about us anymore. I have a responsibility and I won’t run from it.”
“Surely it goes deeper than that. What are your feelings for her?”
“My feelings are irrelevant.”
“Your feelings are everything, Braeden.”
He tugged his shirt off and threw it on the bed. “The fact remains I’ve either given her a child or a death sentence. That’s what’s important here.”
“Well, I choose to remain hopeful. It’s the perfect solution for this dreadful suicide pact you and Xavier—” She frowned as Braeden shoved into a fresh crewneck. “Where are you going?”
“To save a life.”
“Whose?”
He ran a distracted hand through his hair. “Xavier’s Scrubber contact found a coded address book in Lionel Gubczyk’s motel room. Well, they finally cracked the code last night. It provided a viable connection between Gubczyk and his sponsor. A man named Milton Vogel. His wife Octavia was my patient—one of the nineteen.” He went for the walk-in closet. “She died of Histiocytosis.”
“And?”
He rifled through some boxes on the shelf. “I want to try to reason with Vogel before my insane other half puts a bullet in his head.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’ve no choice. The Elders approved Xavier’s petition last night. He’s terminating Vogel next week.”
“I thought the two of you wanted to keep them in the dark about this assassin?”
“Xavier felt otherwise. He figured Vogel would just send another, which would only exacerbate the Elders’ concerns. I don’t know. Maybe he’s right. Either way, Vogel doesn’t deserve Protocol.” After grabbing what he needed, he stalked back into the room with a leather satchel in one hand, while he shoved the other through the arm of a light jacket. “Which reminds me: I didn’t want to burden you with this, but the Elders may be planning to come for me. Xavier’s heard rumors. He called last night to break the news.”
“Detainment?”
“Or Forced Asylum. At any rate, we probably won’t be moving to Canada.”
“Oh my God.”
“Indeed.” He slipped his other arm into the sleeve. “The explosion outside and the ensuing press orgy was the last straw.”
The Assembly of Elders was a group of six hundred men and women—the oldest and most powerful of the Yoreck race—and they were headquartered in almost every country. Though the average lifespan of Whole Yorecks was about a thousand years, a few Elders had lived well past fifteen hundred. Not only were they as paranoid and dictatorial as they were bigoted, most Yoreck feared them.
Now Braeden may have to deal with them directly again. He hadn’t had time to process the gravity of his situation. Truth was, he didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t. There was too much he had to do. If they made him leave, his plans to make atonement for all the death and destruction he’d caused were over. All ties to his previous life would be cut if they placed him in Asylum or Detainment.
He’d never see Angela again.
Or Xavier.
Or Danielle Denieve….
The thought of losing them terrified him.
Angela stared into her lap, a dazed look on her face. “It happened to a friend of mine once. His name was Jonathan. The Elders sent their henchmen in the middle of the night and burned his house down. He lost everything. And I never saw him again.” Her anxious eyes lifted to search his. “What about Danielle?”
“Denieve.”
“Well, what about her? If they take us away—”
“Not us. Me.”
“Where you go, I go. And you know Xavier. He’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.”
Braeden stood before his wall safe and stabbed the combination buttons. His hand shook when he pulled the door open. “I’ll work something out,” he said more to himself than to Angela.
“How? Any moment those goons could show up and drag you—” She eyed the wads of cash he was removing. “Wait a minute. So you’re planning to buy this Milton Vogel person off? What makes you think you can placate his grief with money? The man hired an assassin to kill you!”
“If he doesn’t want to join his wife soon, he’ll take it.”
Braeden would stop at nothing to save him. After all the pain he’d caused Vogel, he was determined to do right by him.
“How much are you giving him?” she asked.
“Damn. I’m short.” He recounted the stacks. “I’ve got to get to the bank.”
“It’s Saturday. The bank closed at noon.”
He snatched a portfolio and several more wads of money. “That’s why you’re going to call Walter so he can let me in. Tell him to be there in twenty minutes. No wait. Better make it thirty. I need to buy another burner.”
“Burner? Where’s your phone?”
Days before his trip to Ireland, he’d hurled it into a wall in a fit of temper.
Ireland…
Finn’s face bobbed to the surface. “It…malfunctioned.” He slammed the safe door shut and st
alked to the bed. “If Xavier calls tell him I’ll be back in a few hours. Nothing more.”
“And what about Dan—er…Denieve?”
“I’ll deal with her later.”
Angela looked worried. “How?”
“Like I said, it depends on whether she’s pregnant.”
“You can’t keep pushing her away, Braeden. She won’t put up with this for long. Your father did it to me, so I know exactly what she’s going through.”
“Which is why you should understand what I’m going through. Until I have definitive proof, mum’s the word.”
* * *
THE FROST ESTATE
DEARBORNE, MARYLAND
Denieve
____________________________
I was lying on the bed, trying not to think about him, trying to focus on more pleasant things. Like my migraine and the five voice mails from Luke I’d ignored and how insanely hot the room had become and the fact that I was still here.
But it was no use. The green-eyed monster had me in a headlock.
Almost three p.m. and Braeden hadn’t spoken a word to me. He obviously had better things to do. Like sitting on his throne of a chair with the blonde and annoyingly beautiful Ms. Pierce perched at his side. The two of them looked so cute together, so cozy, as if they were holding court or something.
My cell phone rang and I scowled. Lately, I’d developed a love-hate relationship with it, and today, like yesterday, was all about hate.
Luke again. I snatched it off the nightstand. “Hellllloooooooo?”
“What’s with the attitude?”
“I’m busy. What do you want?”
“Are you even packed yet?” he barked. “Don’t make me come get you.”
“Yes. Now stop nagging me! I’ll call when I’m on the road.”
He was in the middle of saying something when I poked the End button, and tossed the phone.
For the gazillionth time the tugging sensation warmed my belly, this time at a fever-pitch level. He was coming downstairs. I could feel him. And she was probably with him. This after drinking cognac and eating cookies and cucumber sandwiches—sandwiches I’d made. Even worse, the nauseating image of her hand on his shoulder wouldn’t go away. It was driving me all kinds of crazy. If I didn’t get out of here soon I’d lose my mind.
So why hadn’t I left yet?
I shoved to a stand, grabbed my suitcase, and threw it on the bed. Suddenly, the front door slammed downstairs, freezing me where I stood.
Braeden.
I tore over to the window just as he emerged from beneath a towering willow tree in the courtyard. Wearing a black jacket, jeans, and black shitkickers, he strode purposefully down the walkway, all the while riffling through a bulky leather satchel. Once he reached his Jag, he pulled the door open and glanced up at my window. His sharp gaze arrowed to mine like the first night, yet this time I didn’t hide. I inched closer.
My breath fogged the glass, forcing me to rise on tiptoe for a clearer view. His harsh expression softened to that wordless apology I’d noticed so many times before, the one he still wouldn’t acknowledge. Seconds crawled while his chest swelled, falling and rising in succession, until finally, he slipped dark sunglasses over his eyes before ducking into the car.
“Deni?”
I gasped and rounded to find Caryn floating over my bed, her body ablaze.
“Where the hell have you been?” I asked, my voice rock hard. Anger surged like a heat wave. “What? Did you come back to burn us alive together? Well, you’re out of luck. Braeden just left.”
She bowed her head. “He told you.”
“That you’re a manipulative liar with mental issues? Yes, he made that quite clear.”
Her gaze slashed to mine. “I didn’t lie to you.” She floated closer. Though her face was charred, shame and angst were easy to read on it. “I just didn’t tell you everything upfront.”
“Everything, like the part where you tried to barbeque him?”
“I was…sick, Deni. But I’m much better now.”
A laugh burst out of me. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound? What are you really after here? What devious plan—”
“There was nothing devious about what I set out to do! I was trying to save us all.”
“Oh, please. Spare me your—”
“Do you see these flames?” She held her arms out from her sides. “I’m in torment. In your existence there’s twenty-four hours in a day. In mine, it’s forever. I’m burning. Always. There are no hours or days in purgatory. Time is ceaseless. So yes, I withheld some things. But my intentions were pure.”
“You haven’t changed. You’re still as sneaky and secretive as ever.”
Her mouth tightened. “I’m going to ignore that.”
“Don’t. I meant every word.”
She scowled. “If I’d told you everything, you wouldn’t have come. Tell me I’m wrong.” She waited as I glanced away. “That’s what I thought. I know you all too well. You would’ve doubted my motives.”
“For the record I still do. What made you think I could help him?”
“Your gift for one. Braeden Frost is a hard man to read. He’s distant and remote. It puts most people off. But you…you’re relentless.” She smiled sadly. “You always have been. I knew you’d see through his mask. And I was right. You did.”
I eyed her skeptically. “That was your grand plan?”
“Part of it.” She sighed. “Deni, everything is laid bare on the other side. There are no secrets. All that’s hidden is revealed and all the noise and distractions go away. You have nothing but time. To think. To reassess. That’s how I came up with my idea. I hoped that if I did something good, something to save him—well, to save all five of us now—then maybe my flames would be quenched.”
“What do you mean by all five? Who are the other two?”
She grew quiet, deliberating for a moment before saying, “Don’t concern yourself with—”
“You know, I’ve had just about enough of your cryptic bullshit.”
“I don’t want to mess this up, so I’ve only told you certain things, waiting for the proper time. Just know that I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m working for the best possible outcome. If I help you, your happiness and his may free me from my torment.”
I cocked a brow. “Well, how about you free me from mine? I need answers. Now. What’s with the prophecy you made? Why does Braeden wear gloves? Why is he lying about Samuel Nowak? Do you still believe he killed the nineteen? Did he kill the hit man? What is he—”
“If you would just calm down, I—”
“In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not buying your Mother Teresa act. Not anymore. You were a devious liar when we were kids, and you’re a devious liar now. Why I ever thought death would reform you is beyond me. Hell, you probably lied your way out of purgatory or wherever you came from. You had the nerve to ask me to trust you when you never trusted me. Or anyone.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you haven’t changed,” I spat. “You’ve always been sneaky and secretive. You didn’t trust me when you got drunk and lost your virginity at homecoming. Not even when you had that miscarriage junior year! Or the many times you convinced me to lie to Rachel for you. You weren’t even telling me the truth about what you were doing. Why? Because you preferred to keep your damn secrets!”
“Deni—”
“Save it! And here we are again today, with you up to your same old tricks. Withholding information. Manipulating me into coming here. Manipulating me into staying. And now I’ve lost my gift.” I stabbed a finger at the window. “He manipulated me with his lies and his brother manipulated me into wanting…” I tossed a hand. “Oh, the hell with this. Just tell me the truth or I’m walking.”
“Hey…” Concern flickered within her dead eyes. “Are you okay, Deni?”
“Why is everyone asking me that?”
Caryn hesitated. “Because you seem a little�
�off today.”
“You’re the liar and I’m the one who’s off? The truth, Caryn. Now!”
She nodded looking resigned. “All right then. If it’s answers you want, answers you’ll have.”
The beautiful landscape painting above my headboard shifted to the side, revealing a hidden panel. The door smacked open, and a huge book plunged to the bed, bouncing onto the mattress. I jumped back. My wide-eyed gaze seesawed from Caryn’s milk-white eyes to the tome. Embossed in gold, the title The Scribe’s Oath: A Chronicle Of The Secret Races centered the cover. A lock made of jewels and burnished brass encased it.
“I took this book from Xavier’s house a couple weeks ago,” she said. “Remember the key I gave you in the library? It’s Braeden’s. I got it from upstairs, in his lab. He’d hidden it. They kept them separated for a reason. The key unlocks the secrets of the book. Whatever you do, don’t let them know you have it. And don’t, under any circumstances, let anyone else open it. Promise me.”
“Why? What’s in it?”
“Promise me, Deni!”
“Okay, okay! Jeez.”
“Get the jeweled key,” she said.
After I pulled it from its hiding place between the mattress and box spring, I settled on the edge of the bed and opened the book’s intricate lock with care. But when I flipped the cover back, the pages were blank.
“There’s nothing here,” I said.
“Opening the book unlocks its magic. And the magic converts the book’s language to that of the reader. Now look again.”
In the blink of an eye, words appeared, but they were in a language I didn’t understand. At least at first, because the words morphed into English, then the pages flipped on their own, the breeze ruffling my hair. It came to a violent stop on page 506. The subtitle: Yoreck and The Tree.
I looked up. “What does this have to do with—”
But she was gone.
CHAPTER 11
THE FROST ESTATE
DEARBORNE, MARYLAND
Denieve
____________________________
A three-pound tome about fairytales and myths. Seriously? Sighing, I repositioned the weighty book on my lap and read.
