by Tami Lund
“I don’t know,” she said again. No point in denying it had even happened. Someone had obviously forewarned them, otherwise why would they all be in her living room, clearly waiting for her arrival?
“What sort of questions did they ask?” the hooded one wanted to know.
Carley tried for nonchalance. It was hard, because she was so tired, and she could feel the man’s compulsion, pushing into her brain from where he held her arm. Lightbearers’ magic was strongest when there was physical contact, and she was so mentally and physically exhausted, she would not be able to stave him off for long. “Nothing of consequence. I just kept telling them I didn’t know.”
“Perhaps it is of consequence to me,” the man whispered. He released her arm and lifted his hand. The sleeve of his cloak fell to his elbow, revealing skin so pale it was practically translucent, as if he hadn’t been exposed to the sun in years, possibly his entire life.
But that was impossible. Now that she could see a portion of his skin, she could see the sparks dancing there, the faint shimmer of magic that clung to all Lightbearers’ bodies. It occurred to her that Tanner’s skin often sparkled like that, and recently, so did Finn’s.
Was there truth to the Lightbearers’ ability to share their magic? Once, they feared all shifters wanted to kill them to inherit their magic. Had Tanner and Finn proved that the way to share magic was far, far different from murder?
The thought was fleeting. Her mind was pulled back to the hooded man with the pale skin. How was it possible that he was a Lightbearer—a living, breathing Lightbearer—if he was not regularly exposed to sunlight? Surely his skin would not be so translucent if he sought the sun like all Lightbearers did. Yet if he did not, he should be dead. Everyone knew a Lightbearer’s very life force was directly connected to the sun’s rays.
He reached for her, and Carley instinctively shied away, but Miguel still held her in his firm grip, and he forced her to remain where she was. The pale, veiny hand touched her face. She felt the magical compulsion immediately and instinctively fought against it, but her resistance was futile. Her magic was nearly depleted, and there was not enough sunlight at this time of year to fully regenerate her. Alexa had warned her that winter was far more difficult for pregnant Lightbearers, because it required almost a third more energy to grow a baby than a typical Lightbearer used under normal circumstances.
“Just be sure to get enough sleep,” Alexa had advised. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had time to follow the healer’s instruction.
She sagged against Miguel, who let her nearly collapse to the floor before hauling her to her feet again. The hooded man shook out his sleeve so that it covered his arm and hand again, as he pulled away from Carley and walked back to the couch. He sat serenely, back ramrod straight, hands resting in his lap. Every gaze in the house was drawn to him, avidly watching.
“What did you see, Chosen One?” Miguel asked, his hungry gaze trained on the hooded man.
“They did question her,” he replied, speaking slowly. “And she is right. She told them little. But they told her a great deal. Enough to confirm suspicions she already had.”
He stood again, a fluid, graceful movement. Everyone in the room took a step away, giving him plenty of space. Carley stumbled as Miguel dragged her out of the man’s way.
“Miguel,” the hooded man said. “Keep your mate close. We would not want her to get ideas in her head and try to thwart our efforts. The rest of you, come with me. It is time to set my latest plan into motion.”
He swept from the room and the crowd of worshippers filed out behind him, until Carley and Miguel were alone in their living room. She was so utterly exhausted, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep until the sun rose again the next morning. But Miguel was fairly vibrating with rage.
“Because of you, I have to stay here and babysit,” he spat. “What did he get out of your head?”
Carley staggered over to the couch and sank down onto it. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. It was her phrase of the day.
“You must know something,” Miguel insisted. “Why else would he be afraid that you could ruin his plans? I should be with him. I should be standing next to him, doing his bidding. I shouldn’t have to be here, with you.” He sounded mightily unhappy about the fact that he was stuck home with his mate while everyone else went off to do the Chosen One’s evil bidding.
“Go,” Carley said weakly. “I don’t know anything. And I’m far too tired to go anywhere anyway.” She lay her head on the cushion and closed her eyes.
Miguel hesitated, and Carley lay there, unmoving, struggling against the sleep that wanted to claim her. Finally, he abruptly turned and left the house.
She waited for the count of ten, and then her eyes popped open and she pushed off the couch. No way was she going to sit here and sleep. Not when Cecilia and Olivia and those nice shifters might be in danger. She didn’t know why, but she felt a certain comradery with Olivia—possibly because they were both now with child. Whatever the reason, she had to do something.
She looked out the window, watching for any signs of movement. She would not put it past her suspicious mate to hide out, waiting to see if she was lying. Normally, she never did anything to warrant his suspicion. Today was not one of those days.
But luck was finally on her side, and she was able to slip away from her home undetected.
She hurried through the snow, heading back to the beach house. As the sun gradually set, the wind picked up, warning of another snowfall heading their way. The temperature plummeted as well, causing the stone steps to be coated with ice. Not wishing to expend too much magic in the dark, and in her delicate condition, Carley did not pull on her magic to eliminate the ice on the steps. She clung to the railing and made her way slowly and carefully to the top.
Just as she was about to place her foot onto the top step, a figure suddenly appeared before her, glaring down at her and causing her heart to race at double time.
“Miguel!” She gasped, startled at having been caught.
“I knew I couldn’t trust you,” he snarled. “I should never have taken your parents’ money. You haven’t been worth it from the beginning.” With no warning whatsoever, he shoved her with both hands. As Carley went stumbling down the steps, her screams were swallowed in the whirling wind.
* * * *
Miguel turned his back and trudged through the snow, not toward the beach house, but toward the woods, where he intended to meet up with others from the Chosen One’s faction. They were waiting, he knew, for direction from their leader. The true leader, not the king, who wasn’t even a real leader anyway. Everyone talked of how he no longer made decisions, how he was just a figurehead, and always deferred to the shifters who decided how the Lightbearers should run their own lives. It was disgusting. The Chosen One would never allow a shifter to make his decisions. The Chosen One would kill the shifter instead.
Something big was going down tonight. Miguel knew it. He wanted to be a part of it. He wanted to be with his leader, the great Chosen One.
And then maybe when it was done, he’d finally take advantage of that hot young follower who’d been eyeing him for some time now. Especially now that he no longer had a mate to hold him back.
Chapter 18
Finn watched the house from his perch amongst the boughs of a pine tree, well hidden from view. Not that he really needed to hide. At the moment, he looked like a bird, and Lightbearers did not have the same sense of recognition of shifters as his own kind did. They would notice he was a shifter when he was in human form, of course, but when he took the shape of a bird, or any other animal for that matter, most would have no clue.
The house had been quiet for quite a long time, but Finn was a smart tracker, and he waited until he was certain beyond a shadow of doubt that there were no beings inside before he made a move. Finally, he flew out of the tree, shifting into human form just as his feet lightly hit the ground.
He walked all the way arou
nd the small dwelling, listening for sounds, paying attention with all of his senses. Waiting, focused. Then he stepped up to the back door and tried to twist the knob. Unfortunately, while he was normally able to use force to get through closed doors, sheer physical force was no match for magical wards, and this house was heavily warded, even more so, Finn mused, than the king’s beach house.
He thought about Cecilia, and her unique ability to get through damn near any closed door. As he thought about her, his hand tightened on the knob, and much to his surprise, magic flared to life around his hand, almost blindingly bright, and the knob abruptly turned under his touch.
What the hell?
He paused on the threshold, listening, focusing on the Lightbearer magic he could feel all around him. But he did not sense anything except that strange, almost alive, oily dark magic that he’d felt when he brought Cecilia home to assure her parents she was fine and to collect an overnight bag so that she could stay with him.
He supposed she would be staying at the beach house from this point forward, after that little confrontation they’d had earlier today. His anger bubbled up anew as he pictured in his head what he’d walked in on when he’d left the kitchens and had gone searching for Cecilia, with only one thing in mind. He couldn’t get his head on straight, because all he ever wanted to do was couple with her, get as close to her as he physically could. It was a poor substitute for the emotional closeness he knew he couldn’t have with her, but for those few moments in time, it was—would have to be—enough.
But something happened today, when he’d interrupted Samuel’s mating proposal. Cecilia had grown angry with him, and the only reason he could fathom why was because she had intended to accept Samuel’s proposal. That pain sliced through his heart like a razor-sharp knife. She continually insisted to him that she wanted no commitment, that she was not ready for that stage of her life. Yet she’d become angry when he refused to let her answer Samuel’s proposal.
He supposed it made sense, considering Samuel had been her first sexual experience. He supposed there might be some sort of attachment there that time could not erase. He didn’t feel that way about his first time—hell, he barely remembered her name—but he supposed Cecilia could feel that way about Samuel.
It was just damned infuriating that he’d let himself fall for her, let himself believe that whatever was going on between them might have led to something more, something bigger, something like … love.
Fates be damned, was he in love with the woman?
He must be. That was the only reasonable explanation for the fact that he was prowling through her parents’ house, trying to determine the source of the strange, uncomfortable sensation he’d had the one other time he visited this place. She’d stormed away in a huff when he interrupted Samuel’s mating proposal, and yet here he was still trying to determine who wanted her dead. Glutton for punishment didn’t begin to describe him.
As he stepped up to a doorway that was once again heavily warded against entry, he hesitated and then wrapped his hand around the knob. He thought about Cecilia again, thought about her unusual ability to get through locked doors, and once again, magic flared around his hand before the knob twisted easily and the door swung open.
He wondered at that. The magic he was able to channel had to be Cecilia’s. No one else that he knew of had that special ability with locked or warded doors. But how the hell was he channeling her magic, unless she was knowingly giving it to him? Tanner said Olivia was able to share her magic with him because they were emotionally connected, but Finn knew—now more than ever—that Cecilia felt no emotional connection to him. Was it possible that he was able to channel her magic just because he felt an emotional connection to her? All it took was a one-sided connection? That didn’t sound right, but now was not the time to analyze it so closely.
Instead, he focused on the now open doorway, which appeared to lead into a basement. It didn’t have the humid, unused feeling of an underutilized room like so many basements did. He considered flipping on the light switch, but if there was someone lurking at the bottom of the stairs, he didn’t want to alert them to his presence. Besides, he was a shifter with excellent night vision.
He stole down the steps, quiet as a cat, his ears alert for any sounds, his eyes quickly adjusting to the almost impenetrable darkness.
There was no one at the base of the stairs. He was alone in the basement. Still, it seemed a wise idea to keep the lights off, so he did, and began prowling around the space, using all his senses to determine that he was wandering about a living space, and a well-used one at that.
One corner had been sectioned off with screens, and he discovered a bed behind the screen, the sheet and blankets pulled so severely over the mattress that he could bounce a quarter off it if he so chose. The washer and dryer were tucked underneath the staircase, and a bathroom had been installed next to them. There was even a small kitchenette. As if this were some sort of apartment.
Strange that Cecilia had never mentioned that her parents had a renter, if that’s what this was. It certainly appeared that way. It didn’t have the feel of a bonus room or an entertainment area. This was an apartment or a mother-in-law suite.
As Finn walked past one wall, his arm brushed what turned out to be a curtain. Curiously, he lifted the curtain to reveal an entire wall of lights, the kind, he noted, that people used to grow plants indoors in order to extend the growing season.
If plants could survive under these lights, so too could a Lightbearer. This was the perfect setup for a Lightbearer who did not—or could not—spend a great deal of time aboveground. Without light, a Lightbearer would eventually die. A wall of grow lights certainly solved that problem.
Adrenaline surged through his system. Had he just discovered where the would-be killer had been hiding? This also confirmed his own suspicions—that Cecilia’s parents were involved. Anger pushed past the adrenaline, as he clenched his fists and thought about how many times over the past few months that he’d let her go home alone, inadvertently exposing her to a killer. He was amazed she was still alive.
Grateful, and amazed.
With a renewed sense of urgency, Finn decided to hell with avoiding the lights. He strode over to the couch and flipped on a small lamp, bathing the room in pale light. He looked around, taking it all in, now that he could see it clearly. The only furniture in what he determined was the living area was an old, worn armchair made of cracked leather and what looked like duct tape covering various holes and tears. There were no decorations on the walls, no knickknacks on any horizontal surfaces. Nothing about the space was inviting or warm.
Finn moved swiftly through the room, the need to find something, some sort of proof of his suspicions, spurring his actions. He stepped into the sectioned-off sleeping area. Instead of a dresser, there were three wooden crates, each filled with carefully folded clothing. There was a small table next to the head of the bed, and upon the table lay a thin notebook and a pen. Finn picked up the notebook.
When he flipped it open, he sucked in a sharp breath. Only one page had been used. A list of names had been written out in a perfectly symmetrical line, along the left side of the page. The king’s name was on it, as well as the queen and Dane and Olivia and various other Lightbearer names that Finn recognized. One name was written on the right side of the page:
Cecilia.
At the bottom of the page, someone had written the word shifters several times, in increasingly more agitated handwriting.
It was easy for Finn to come to the conclusion that this was a list of Lightbearers who were sympathetic to the idea of shifters living within the coterie. What he didn’t understand was why Cecilia had been singled out. Why was her name alone on the right side of the page? Why had she been the only one whose life had been threatened? He supposed Olivia had also been hit with that magical snowball, but he was still convinced Cecilia had been the target.
Not that he wanted anyone else to be in danger. He just wanted
to know why, precisely, Cecilia was. If he understood the why, then he could figure out a way to save her, because he would be damned if he would let some zealot take her away from him.
Even if she wasn’t his to take.
He also wanted to know the identity of the person threatening her life. And what was Cecilia’s parents’ connection to this person? Were they aware that their tenant was threatening their own daughter?
So many damn questions, and Finn was determined to find the answers, all of them. Except that as soon as he flipped off the light, preparing to head upstairs and get the hell out of this strange, slightly uncomfortable space, he heard a noise.
Someone was coming.
Chapter 19
She wanted to run. Slip from the beach house and trudge through the snow, heading north, through the woods until she reached the edge of the coterie. She wanted to rush through the wards, to the other side, where nothing could possibly hurt her as badly as Finn had when he’d informed her that she was nothing more than a handy fuck.
Ironic that a few short weeks ago, that’s all she’d been looking for. But not from him. Not even that first time in the closet had it been just a fuck. It had always been more. She’d seen the way he glowed afterward. Olivia had explained to her that she shared her magic with Tanner because of their love. Obviously the love did not have to be mutual. She had shared her magic with Finn, but he did not love her.
She prowled through the lower level of the beach house, trying to find a distraction from her thoughts. Despite his proclamation, she would not act rashly, would not do what he always assumed she would do. As much as she wanted to run away, this time, she would stay. Nearly falling over the cliff had taught her lesson enough. Someone outside these four walls wanted her dead, and even with her heart in shattered pieces, Cecilia had no desire to end her life quite this soon.
