by Tami Lund
“Something wrong,” she slurred. Speaking had suddenly become exceedingly difficult. Her hands were numb. The wineglass slipped from her fingers and bounced almost soundlessly onto the carpet. Wine splattered, leaving burgundy spots on the couch, the carpet, the coffee table.
“I’ll get that,” Samuel said. His voice sounded perfectly normal to her. Why was she so affected, when they’d had the same amount of wine?
“Wrong,” she managed, as Samuel waved his hand and magically cleaned up the splattered wine.
“No, no,” Samuel said in a soothing voice. She became dimly aware of her body moving, as if someone was lifting her into his arms. Her head lolled against Samuel’s chest.
“Nothing is wrong, Cecilia. Everything is finally going to be just right,” Samuel said, and then the world faded quickly to black as Cecilia passed out.
* * * *
“Cecilia, is Samuel still—Cecilia?” Olivia came to a stuttering halt just inside the sitting room, as she realized no one was there, and she was therefore speaking to herself. She looked all around. “Cici?” Had she left the house? With Samuel? Cecilia wouldn’t leave with him, and if she did, she would have informed Olivia of her plans.
Olivia noticed the wineglasses perched on the coffee table. One was entirely empty, while the other was half-full. Cecilia was not normally a heavy drinker, and Olivia hoped she learned her lesson the last time she’d drunk far too much wine. She walked over and touched the wineglasses and wondered which had been Cecilia’s.
Something caught her eye, and she turned to look more intently at the stone-colored couch. She had to get on her hands and knees in order to see it more clearly, but once she did, what she saw was unmistakable.
Someone had spilled wine on this couch, very recently. She looked around and saw several more burgundy spots, far away on the carpet. Whoever had cleaned up the spill had not been terribly thorough.
Cecilia would have been thorough.
A sense of alarm raced through Olivia’s system. Why would Cecilia not have cleaned up the spilled wine, regardless of who spilled it? Even if Samuel spilled it and offered to clean it up, Olivia knew her cousin well enough to know that Cecilia would have gone behind him to eliminate the spots on the couch and on the carpet.
The entire scene felt off. She was still fretting about it when Tanner and Finn returned from the far pastures.
“What’s wrong?” Tanner asked, sensing immediately that she was distressed.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Possibly nothing. It’s just that Cecilia was here, with Samuel—”
“He was here?” Finn interrupted.
“Yes. They were both here, in the sitting room. I came down not twenty minutes later to retrieve her. That’s our code, you see. If she was enjoying herself, she would lift her hand and touch her hair, letting me know that there was no need to rescue her. If she did not touch her hair, I would have entered the room and come up with some excuse to take her away with me, effectively dismissing the suitor.”
“Cute,” Finn muttered.
“But she wasn’t here.”
Finn looked around, as if he expected Cecilia to suddenly appear out of nowhere. “What do you mean, she wasn’t here? Where’s Samuel?”
“He was gone too. I know that doesn’t sound alarming by itself—”
“Actually, it’s plenty alarming,” Finn interrupted again.
“There were wine stains on the couch,” Olivia said with a wave at the offending piece of furniture. Both men bent at the waist, apparently to see the wine stains for themselves.
“Well, they aren’t there now,” she said impatiently. “I cleaned them up.”
Finn and Tanner both straightened and gave her almost identical baffled looks.
“My point is, Cecilia would not have left wine stains on the couch. She would have cleaned them up.”
Tanner didn’t quite understand but Finn did. “You didn’t see her leave?”
Olivia shook her head. “I have no idea when she left, or where she went.”
Finn picked up the empty wineglass and examined it, then sniffed it. “This doesn’t smell right.”
Olivia furrowed her brow and plucked the wineglass from his hand. She studied it for a moment, and then she swirled her hand over the top. The inner bowl of the glass glowed with a sickly green color for a few seconds before fading to nothing again. Olivia’s eyes widened.
“Poison,” she whispered.
“What?” Tanner asked in alarm, while Finn snatched the glass from her and sniffed at the contents again.
“I’m not sure what,” Olivia said apologetically. “I haven’t gotten that far in my studies. Alexa would know. Or Dane.”
Dane was closer.
* * * *
“Sleeping potion,” he confirmed a short time later. “Renders the recipient unconscious. Otherwise, it’s harmless.”
“How long?” Finn demanded.
“How long what?”
“How long does it render someone unconscious?” he demanded, with barely controlled fury. He was holding on by the tiniest, thinnest thread at the moment. If he didn’t find Cecilia soon, he was afraid he would lose what little control he was still able to maintain.
Dane frowned. “Depends on how much they ingested. It’s hard to tell in this situation, since, according to Olivia, some of the wine was spilled. A few hours at the least. A day or so at the most. I’m sorry. I cannot give you anything more specific than that.”
* * * *
Cecilia’s head felt like it was filled with lead. She couldn’t lift it, so she stopped trying. She simply lay there—wherever there was—and concentrating on breathing, until her eyes decided to cooperate and open. It took another few moments for the world to come into focus. When it did, she recognized her own bedchamber, in her parents’ cottage.
She had no idea how she’d gotten there.
She heard movement and willed her head to turn to the side. It wouldn’t work.
“Gerard, I think she’s awake.”
“Good. I was beginning to worry that she wouldn’t wake in time for the king to arrive.”
Her parents. Why were they talking about Uncle Sander? Cecilia tried to make her mouth work, but it wasn’t cooperating either. Nothing on her body was being particularly cooperative at the moment.
Her mother’s face swam into view, looking down at her with a mixture of concern and unease. “How do you feel, sweetling?”
Cecilia opened and closed her mouth, but she could not formulate words, just a strange, moaning sound. Lacey patted her cheek.
“There, there, dear. Samuel insists the potion will have no long-term effects. He just needed you to cooperate, and you weren’t exactly doing so.”
Potion? Cecilia recalled thinking the wine tasted funny. She would never forgive that imbecile if he poisoned her wine. And she’d tell him so just as soon as her mouth and vocal cords started working again.
“He’s here.” That was her father’s voice, calling down the hall. She hadn’t even realized he left the chamber. Cecilia recalled Finn telling her once that he hated to lose control. She now understood precisely to what he referred. She had a feeling it would be a very long time before she would be willing to drink from a glass of wine again after this situation.
Her mother’s face floated into view again. Her hands came up and fussed with Cecilia’s hair. She felt the shimmer of magic as her mother did something to Cecilia’s clothing. She wondered what was happening, but she still could not seem to move to even take a look.
“Can you speak yet, sweetling?”
Cecilia opened her mouth, forced out a word. “Ye-e-es.”
Lacey clapped her hands enthusiastically. “Perfect. That is all you will need to say. We’re ready,” she called out.
Cecilia heard sounds indicative of others entering the chamber. She recognized her father’s voice, and Samuel’s. Samuel hurried over and peered down at her, and Cecilia gave him as angry a look as she could manag
e, given the fact she felt as though her face was carved from stone. It must have worked, though, because he looked both surprised and nervous, before he disappeared from view again.
“Lacey, why in the name of the lights have you summoned me to your cottage now, after all these years?” the king of the Lightbearers demanded.
Cecilia opened her mouth, willed the power of speech to return, but nothing happened.
“It’s Cecilia,” she heard her mother say.
“Cecilia?” Uncle Sander repeated her name, his voice suddenly filled with concern. Her uncle’s worry, she knew, was sincere. She could not say the same for her mother.
“Over here,” Lacey said. A moment later, first her mother, then her uncle’s face came into view. Cecilia opened her mouth again, but only a croak came out.
“Dear lights above, what happened to her?”
“We don’t know,” Lacey said. She was playing the role of worried mother to the hilt.
Cecilia felt anger swell in her chest, but it stayed there, instead of bursting out and letting everyone know how she felt.
“She woke up like this,” her mother said.
“Have you called a healer?”
“Yes. The healer said they cannot do anything for her. She—she may be dying.” Lacey choked on a fake sob. Cecilia wished she really would choke. What were they up to?
Uncle Sander made the appropriate noises of concern, expressed his determination to try to find a cure.
“She did say one thing,” Lacey interrupted him, when he began to talk about taking Cecilia up to the beach house.
“What is it?”
“She said she wished to be mated. She seemed to understand that she may be dying,” Lacey explained. “And she did not want to feel as if she were dying alone.”
“Mated? Cecilia? Why, she’s never said a single thing about taking a mate. Genevieve has been pushing her, too. In fact, Olivia told Genevieve just the other day to stop pestering her about it, because Cecilia did not want to be mated.”
When Lacey spoke again, her voice sounded agitated. “Yes, well, she has obviously changed her mind. Imminent death will do that to a person, I imagine.”
“So she wants me to pick out a mate? Because she’s dying?” He sounded dubious.
“Actually, no,” Lacey said. “She specifically named a mate, as it happens.”
“Who?”
“Samuel. One of your guards.” Cecilia saw a fluttering movement and determined it was her mother’s hand, waving Samuel into the room.
“Hello, Your Majesty.”
“Samuel,” the king said brusquely. “Do you have any idea what happened to my niece?”
Cecilia heard a sound, like a cat hacking up a fur ball, and then Samuel weakly said, “No, sire.”
The fae were unable to lie, although it was well known they were masters at trickery and deception. Unfortunately, the inability to lie was not a trait carried over into the Lightbearer species when they evolved from the fae a thousand years ago. Which was damned unfortunate.
This was a setup. The entire charade. Her parents meant for her to mate with Samuel, but they knew she would not do it of her own accord. So they’d arranged for this scheme, so she would be rendered nearly incapacitated. If the king bought their story, he would declare her and Samuel as mates, and Cecilia would be stuck forever. She tried to move, tried to pull the king’s attention, but the most she could do was slightly bend two of her fingers.
Lights above, she wanted to scream.
Lacey goaded the king some more, smoothly convinced him that Cecilia’s last dying wish was to mate with Samuel. “You sure you want this, Samuel?” the king asked, sounding dubious.
Samuel’s face appeared within her line of vision again. He looked nervous, worried. Cecilia opened her mouth. “Samuel,” she croaked. Tell them no!
“Did you hear that?” Lacey’s voice was triumphant. “She said his name. Sander, you must do this for your niece. It is her final wish.”
Lacey had referred to her brother as “the king” or “your majesty” for Cecilia’s entire life. Cecilia knew Uncle Sander was a goner just as soon as his sister referred to him by name.
“Okay,” he said in a resigned voice.
Mobility was returning, slowly. Cecilia was now able to turn her head to and fro. She saw her father, standing near the doorway of the bedchamber, arms crossed over his chest, a determined look on his face. Her mother hovered near the king, who stood next to the bed, preparing to declare Cecilia mated. Samuel stood on the other side of the bed, fidgeting and looking highly uncomfortable.
You did this to me, she wanted to roar, but of course, all that came out was a croak.
“Hurry,” Lacey encouraged. “She does not have much time.”
They wanted it done before she regained the power of speech. They knew she would say no. But if the king declared her mated before she could stop him, she would be stuck, forever.
I’ll never be able to kiss Finn again. That lone thought was heartbreaking. “Finn,” she managed.
“What did she say?” the king asked.
“Finn.”
“Finish it,” Lacey snapped. “She is telling you to finish it. Do it already.”
“No,” Cecilia said. “No.”
The king looked down at Cecilia. She looked up at him with pleading eyes. He backed away from the bed. “Lacey, I think we should wait. She appears to be getting better. I would rather not mate them until Cecilia can tell us her wishes.”
“I am her mother,” Lacey ground out. “I know her wishes.”
“I would beg to differ,” the king said coolly. “Considering that Genevieve and I raised the child because she was too difficult for you to handle.”
Cecilia would have cheered her uncle’s newly discovered backbone, if she could. Instead, she resorted to smiling at him. He turned away from her and shook his head.
“We wait,” he said firmly. “I will summon Alexa to examine her again.” He left the chamber.
The room fell silent for several moments, until Lacey whispered, “What do we do now?” She looked fearful as she turned toward her mate.
Gerard’s face was stern. “We take her to the Chosen One.”
“No. Gerard, no. My daughter.”
Cecilia’s father lifted his gaze and looked at her, but he could not hold eye contact long. “He may not kill her. We have been devout followers, Lacey. I don’t think he wants her to die. If you will recall, it was his idea to mate her to Samuel, to bring her into the fold.”
But Lacey shook her head. “No. No. Not yet. We’ll figure something else out. I will not sacrifice my daughter.”
“What do you propose?”
Lacey turned and looked at Cecilia. Unlike her mate, she held eye contact. “I will alter her memory.”
“What about the king?”
“I can handle my brother. I will alter his memory as well.” Lacey glanced at Samuel. “When I’m done, take her to your cottage until the effects of the potion wear off. I advise you to work hard at convincing her to mate with you.” Lacey’s voice had turned cold.
The last thought Cecilia had before her mother pressed a hand her to hair and began speaking an incantation was, Never.
Chapter 12
Tanner naturally had to be the voice of reason. It wasn’t his mate that had been drugged and kidnapped. Of course, Cecilia wasn’t Finn’s mate, either. He didn’t want a mate. Didn’t want the complications of falling in love, of caring for another person more than one cared about himself, his family, his pack.
And he sure as hell didn’t want a Lightbearer mate. Cecilia? That was the biggest joke of all. They were constantly at odds. How could they ever make a go at a relationship?
Not gonna happen.
He sure as hell stormed into Samuel’s cottage as if the man had stolen his mate, though.
“Calm down,” Tanner admonished, as he grabbed Finn by the shirt collar to keep him from taking a flying leap across the room when he
saw Samuel standing there, holding what appeared to be a cup of coffee in his hands.
Samuel promptly dropped the mug. It shattered against the wooden floor, splattering hot coffee up his pant leg. He danced in place for a moment before bolting down the hall toward the bedchambers.
Finn was right behind him. When he saw Cecilia, lying in the middle of the bed, curled up under the bedcovers, sound asleep, his heart slammed against his ribcage. He broke out into a cold sweat. His hands started shaking. His knees wobbled.
She’s alive. He could tell that much. Unharmed was a different matter.
Finn reached out, grabbed Samuel by the throat, and shoved him against the nearest wall. The plaster crumbled under the impact, as magic flared around Finn’s hand. “What did you do to her?”
“N-nothing,” Samuel stuttered, eyes wide and fearful.
He should fear me. I could rip his throat out right now and have no regrets.
Finn wasn’t normally such a violent person, but he had killed before to save Cecilia. This would be no different.
“You drugged her,” Finn growled.
“N-no.”
“We have proof,” Tanner said coolly from behind Finn. “Finn, relax your hold. You’re going to strangle him.”
Finn didn’t think that was such a bad thing, but it was his pack master’s command, so he loosened his grip.
Samuel gasped for breath and stuttered over his words as he tried to deny any wrongdoing. “S-she just wanted to take a nap,” he insisted.
“Never mind. Go ahead and strangle him,” Tanner said almost nonchalantly.
As Finn squeezed, Samuel cried out, “Okay, okay, I did. I did it.”
Tanner clamped his hand onto Finn’s arm to keep him from squeezing again.
Samuel’s eyes were wide as he said, “I just—I just—I just—”
“Spit it out already,” Finn snapped.
“I just wanted to mate with her,” Samuel blubbered. “And I thought if I got her alone, away from you, I could convince her to do it.” He actually glared at Finn, as if that shifter was at fault in this situation.
