by Billi Jean
The sense of relief he experienced was quickly followed by a bigger dose of suspicion. “I see. And what is it you want from me?”
“I assumed, since you were the one to detect Isobel in the walls, you might have more of a sense of her than we do.”
Bryson laughed at the understatement. At the moment he could point to exactly where Isobel was—but he wasn’t about to share that with this Vampire.
“I can’t help you, Christian. I’m certain you will find her. She cannot hide forever.”
I’m damned. Surely lightning will strike me for my lies.
Christian blew out a breath and nodded. “We thought we had her in Seattle, but something scared her off. Her going there was odd, don’t you think? Why would she go to the States?” Christian mused.
Either Bryson was now seeing ghosts where none existed, or the Vampire was testing him.
“I was in Seattle. When was it you thought you sensed her?”
“Ah, you were? We were closing in on her, just this past night, but she vanished.”
Bryson frowned and considered that. If they were there, it was after I found her. Christian is many things, but he isn’t capable of hiding. Bryson’s gut felt as if someone was wringing it dry. He fought the need that rose suddenly in his mind—the need to kill Christian.
No. I will not add the sin of murder onto the sins of my deceptions. He steeled himself and spun one more lie, hoping it would be the last.
“I was there checking that all had been cleared. Did she enter Samuel’s home, or merely go to the city?”
Christian grinned and suddenly patted him on the back. “I see. So she fooled you as well, did she? She is good, what with all her years in that wall, I’m shocked she can shift, let alone recall how to become mist. But she’s tricky. Always was, eh?” Christian seemed enormously pleased. As if Bryson’s lack of sensing Isobel meant much more to him than Bryson could decipher.
Does he guess I am Isobel’s bonded?
Kill him. Rip his throat open, drink him dry.
Bryson fisted his hands.
Control. Gain control.
Christian surveyed him with a penetrating stare. “She was part of the elite. A Dragon Guard. Such promise, but a disappointment in the end.”
Bryson ground his teeth. Disdain his bonded? I’ll rip his throat out—
My bonded who is…a Dragon Guard. Lucid thoughts resurfaced. He didn’t have to pretend shock at Christian’s words. He was stunned speechless.
Dragon Guards were legendary. And no more. Their secret sect had disappeared, concealed in their mystic home centuries before. Some thought murdered by Isobel, after she’d killed Aaron. Darker whispers said she had also killed Rowan, the head of their order.
But for frail-looking Isobel to be a Dragon Guard was astounding. I thought her shy and weak. Dragon Guards were the most mystic of the Vampire sects. They were taken at birth. She would have never known her parents. Never bonded with them or been shown love. They were bred to be strong—but also detached and ruthless. Each one had to be, for the training was begun as soon as the child could walk. Each one also had to be of noble blood. If she had been chosen, then her twin brother would have been as well. It explained why he’d never encountered her before—only the once and only from a distance.
The ramifications of this new reality made his head spin. It was no wonder she’d lost her mind when her brother had been sentenced to death. He would have been all she had, all she had ever known.
“Shocking, isn’t it? You see now why we will have a difficult time locating her.”
Difficult? How about impossible? But that still didn’t explain Christian being here. In his home.
“True, but still, not impossible. She has been centuries away from the world, how much could she possibly learn in so short a time? Look where she would find comfort, familiarity.” If there was such a place.
“Ah, yes,” Christian’s gaze grew intense, watchful. “That is…helpful.”
It would be if she were free to roam.
“I must go now if I am to prepare for the council.” Another lie, but not so damning since he should prepare for the meeting, but knew he wouldn’t. Not with Isobel downstairs. Even now, she was probably attempting to break free. He needed to call Jaxon. He needed to cancel the meeting. Or have Jaxon head it. But, more, he needed to see her again. Check that the bars still held her.
“I have business back in London, myself.” Christian strolled over to the mantel to pick up a small cross. Bryson barely held in a growl. “Your home is well suited, Bryson. A good find, and far enough from everything to give you peace, I assume.” Christian set the cross down and walked over to the small library, smiling at the ancient clock nestled between the rows of books. He ran a finger over the glass containing three Greek Orthodox icons and tilted his head at Bryson.
“A religious man, are you, Bryson? The Greeks really were better at icons than the Russians, were they not? The use of color, the deep blues and golds are truly amazing.” He sighed and turned, clearly not in a rush to leave. Or not in as much of a hurry as Bryson was to get rid of him. “Beautiful. I shall give some thought to something like this for the future. There will be less need for me to be tied to a House if we succeed, eh?”
“Very good.” Bryson kept the snarl from his tone, but barely. “I’m surprised you don’t already have your own place, away from the House. But now, perhaps you can find one to your liking.”
“True, absolutely true. I shall give it some thought. Good luck with the council, I have a feeling you will need it.”
Bryson nodded. And you will need more than luck to find what you seek.
Christian winked and, thankfully, disappeared. The scent of evergreens settled in the room from his passage. Assured he was gone, and gone far, Bryson dropped his security harder and faster than before. Relief brought with it a load of guilt so heavy he sat, resting his head in his hands.
What am I doing?
He considered his phone and calling… He couldn’t ask Aidan for help in this. Aidan was furious. No one could make him listen, not when he was like that. Jaxon couldn’t be brought into this—even if he would help, Bryson couldn’t damn his friend with his troubles.
I’m a traitor, a liar and, worse, none of that matters as much as the woman in my dungeon. All he wanted to do was squeeze her tightly to his chest again. Hold her. It felt so right… If I can get her to explain, to give me a reason for what she did, then I can speak for her. Win her release from this death sentence. Have her. Claim her.
He jumped to his feet and punched a hole in the wall.
What kind of man am I that I will let a woman have control over me?
A sudden suspicion of someone else in his house settled over him. He woke the dogs, reassured by their howls. No one is near. Just then, his skin prickled in awareness. A moment later, he heard Isobel’s feet touch the hardwood floor behind him.
“Drop your barrier, Bryson. I will leave this place now.”
The complete conviction in that tone pissed him off. Here he was wrangling with his conscience over what to do with her and she had no doubts at all about her path.
He laughed. “You will never leave this place. I will not allow—”
The strike hit his shield hard, much harder than he imagined it would. He barely reinforced them. He should have known after Seattle when she’d felled a forest. Still, he was amazed. Quickly, he added more layers so that she couldn’t break past, even if he were to lose this fight.
Another hit followed the first. She hissed when she shoved at his shields and couldn’t break free. Blood dripped from her nose, a telltale sign of how hard she fought to push herself free. The evidence of how she struggled enraged him. She sought to break from him. His bonded. Mine!
“Desist from this,” he commanded harshly. “You will only hurt yourself. You will stay here, with me, as long as I wish it.”
Immediately he was struck by a blast. His body hurtled through the room. Anoth
er punch hit him as he slammed into the mantel. Stones fractured on impact. His ribs cracked.
She attempted to break through his wards again. Panic surged. He reinforced the barrier even as he struggled to rise. She wiped her wrist under her nose, eyes narrowed at him, then turned. Raising her hand, she then shoved it forward. The glass windows exploded. His hounds howled. Icy claws of fear tore into his gut.
When the barriers still held, she turned to him. Her onyx eyes shimmered. “You would keep me prisoner? Again?”
Is that hatred in her eyes or…fear?
In that instant, clarity came. Six hundred and seventy-five years she’d been held, trapped, and he would do the same. I can’t lose her. I can’t. But I can’t keep her here.
She raised her hands again, and this time rage blackened her irises.
Just about to drop his wards, Bryson froze.
Faolan walked out from behind Isobel and held up his hands, facing her. “You promised not to harm Bryson if I released you!”
“I won’t harm him, Faolan. I will kill him.”
Hell. I am in hell.
The boy raised both hands higher as if that would stop her. Amazingly, it did. She stared at the child and threw her own hands up. “Faolan, he—”
“He went to save you. He didn’t kill you. You should hear him out. Elsa and Jamie talk, Jamie says that’s how he learns what she wants. Maybe if Bryson talks, you will know what he wants.”
“I know what he wants.”
Bryson doubted that. Do I know?
“I don’t believe you do,” Faolan answered for him. “He wants to save you. But for good, not so you can always hide from Aidan.”
She widened her eyes and stared at Faolan then raised her head to glare at him. “Have you sent this boy to talk to me?”
“What? Of course not. I didn’t know he was here. Faolan, how the hell did you get in my damn home, again?”
She stiffened at his words. Her eyes narrowed. Belatedly, he recalled how Elsa felt about him swearing around the boy.
Faolan laughed.
“You don’t ward your home well enough, that’s how he got in,” Isobel snapped.
He let that insult go, then couldn’t seem to keep his lips sealed. “I don’t see you breaking free.”
She crossed her arms and the glare deepened.
What has happened to my diplomacy? My sanity?
“Bryson, aren’t you supposed to be leaving? I can stay with—”
Stunned, he glared at the boy. “You have lost your brain cells somewhere along the way to break into my home—again—and if you think I’m leaving you with her.” He pointed at Isobel, who appeared offended. “She’s not safe.”
Her delicate brows drew down to indicate that he wasn’t safe either. His back throbbed from where she must have crushed his vertebrae. His ribs were mending already, but they reminded him of her power. No doubt she’d do worse if the boy left. Although, he studied her eyes and perceived she was calmer, perhaps keeping Faolan around just for a while—until he could get her back in the cell—would be a good idea.
“She will not harm me,” Faolan insisted. “We are friends.”
Isobel snorted and looked away. She didn’t deny it.
He’d been about to do the same. “Either way, you can’t stay with her while I’m gone. I’m already damned in hell for lying for her—”
“You did not lie for me,” she muttered. “You lied for yourself.”
“I lied and hid you so you wouldn’t be killed!”
At his shout, she again gave him the look as if he had grown another head. Her chin went up. Expression mulish she gazed at him steadily. As if daring him to go on? The little—
Faolan sighed and flopped onto the couch. “I’m hungry. Maybe we should eat. Jamie always says—”
“Faolan, I want you to leave.” Bryson kept his voice firm, hoping if he did the boy would realize this wasn’t the time or place to hang out. It was better if he left. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he and Isobel would come to blows. The boy couldn’t be here for that. Bryson didn’t want to be here for that. But, short of forcing her, he didn’t see how he’d get her back downstairs in a cell. Keeping her.
“But, Bryson—”
“It’s for your own safety.”
“I’m safe here, Bryson. I think you’re safer too. Can you make us something to eat? I think Isobel might be hungry, as well.” The boy grinned, playing with the strings of his hoodie. Did Elsa even realize what this kid got up to when she and Jamie were…busy?
Just thinking on what the couple were probably doing caused his heart to speed up. Sex. Sex without end. Blood drinking, meshing of lips, pumping of hips, sweat, tight heat…
“Uh, Bryson?”
He blinked. Bank the desire. No sex. Not even thinking of sex. He concentrated on ice and the freezing temperatures outside his home and managed to control his instincts. She’s turned me into a base animal. He glanced at her. She stood with her back to them, no doubt trying to free herself still.
“You want me to go make you dinner?”
Faolan smiled. “Yes, that would be nice. Dinner would be good. Have you eaten yet, Isobel? Bryson makes good pasta.”
The boy is crazy.
Isobel didn’t respond, but neither did she attack. Can’t make her dinner! What the hell kind of inquisition is this if I sit across from her? Watching her eat what I’ve made?
Provide. Protect. Claim. He battled the instincts back down. How long before he couldn’t? She needed to be back in that cell. He swallowed. Not to keep her there, but to keep her away from him.
“I have a meeting, and she needs back in her cell.”
“In the dungeon?” Faolan asked, eyes wide. “Why? She cannot escape this house.”
She snorted.
Before Bryson could snap at her, Faolan added, “Why would you put her down there? There aren’t any pillows or blankets down there, Bryson.”
“Where’s Jamie? I’m calling him to pick you up.” He pulled out his phone, realized it was dead, threw it on the couch and glared at the ceiling. He considered Isobel, who couldn’t leave, then the boy who wouldn’t leave, and the empty pit in his stomach. When was the last time I ate? He remembered a quick burger and fries, but that had been some time ago. Nights ago. “Where are Jamie and Elsa?”
Faolan’s eyes grew distant, then he smiled. “Jamie and Elsa are…busy.”
He bet they were. Newly mated couples were often busy for years. He swallowed past a suddenly dry throat. His body surged to life—again. He battled it back down. Again. Can’t keep her here. Can’t let her sit across from me. Can’t—
She sighed and wiped her sleeve under her nose again. Still attempting to leave? Why not? What have I done to make her want to stay?
Want to stay?
He angled his head, his mind running through the new thought. This is a battle. Treat it like one. Getting her to talk would not come from threats. Neither would it come from forcing her into a dungeon. But what about allowing her to talk? On her own?
His heart raced. The possibilities were there—she had been alone for so long. She clearly enjoyed Faolan. Had formed a bond of sorts with the boy. Of course Faolan had let her out…but she’d not attacked him again. Was she a killer?
I want to know. I need to know.
Then change your strategy.
“I can make something. Only if you stop attempting to break my barrier.” Both of them gave him identical frowns. He ignored that and nodded to the crimson drop under her nose. “If you continue, I will put you back in the dungeon.” For some reason, his mouth had decided threats were far better than staying quiet.
After an agonizing silence, she gave one miniscule dip of her regal chin.
He took that as a yes. Wanted to press for more, but held off by some miracle of god. He turned and stalked to the kitchen, ready to strangle someone, just not sure who.
Isobel watched Faolan move his hands as he described getting on somethin
g he called a subway. She had seen the tunnels underground, the large metal tubes people rode in, but hadn’t followed the humans inside.
“I think you need to watch movies. You kinda speak funny. Like me. Elsa says I don’t fit in with kids my age. She says it’s because I didn’t watch television.”
She rubbed her nose, not wanting to interrupt the child, but unsure what he meant.
“TV.”
“Ah, the large screen? With the pictures. I have seen this. It is useless.” She dismissed the bizarre mesmerizing tool humans were so attached to. “This thing, the computer, this is much better.” She had seen one and used it in a store filled with white light and odd, simple outlines of apples. Such art was truly loved by this century. She found it childlike. The computers in that place, though, had been enlightening. So was this thing called Chrome, and Google. Through both, the shopkeeper had shown her the world. More of it than she cared to see. It had been revealing of this century. She had left with something called a notebook made of an odd, smooth material but no paper.
“Yes, a computer is like a library.” He gestured to the books along the walls of Bryson’s study.
The room was warm and comforting, surprisingly so. The books in here were well-taken-care-of leather tomes. Some dated back to the earliest of times. They were not all he owned.
The icons he had on display were beautiful. He’d set them up with Christ in the middle on his cross, the Holy Virgin and child on Christ’s right, and on the Virgin’s left, St. John the theologian. The screens holding them were intricately carved marble and a deep, rich wood. Clearly the display was a masterpiece among his collection.
He also possessed other crosses she was not familiar with. Each was set on a shelf, as if casually placed. She thought each was arranged according to some system only Bryson would know.
Bryson. Something had changed with him. Something she couldn’t pinpoint. When he had cracked the mantel stones she thought he would retaliate. His eyes had gone from light gray to darkest black—rage, she assumed. At her. His bonded.
But I hurt him and I am his mate. It had felt…wrong.
