by Elle Thorne
Probably anxiety over Alara’s wellbeing.
“We should go,” she told him.
Symone and Marco arrived back on the island and pulled Jaron away from his watch over the fortress to bring him up to speed. He’d wanted to stay and watch for Alara, but they’d said they wouldn’t talk there, they had to go where they were sure they wouldn’t be overheard.
As they neared their staging area, Max’s tail wagged furiously. Symone spared him a quick pat.
“Well, what is it?” Jaron insisted. “What is the plan?”
Marco told Jaron that Circe would be there soon.
Jaron clenched and unclenched the muscles in his jaw. “How long will the flight take?”
“Seven hours. Seven hours and fifteen minutes, to be precise,” Marco told him. “My sister looked into it.”
Jaron’s expression was grim. “Okay, then. So what’s next?”
“We wait.” Marco placed a hand on Max’s head.
Max whined as though understanding the seriousness of the situation.
“What about you?” Symone asked Jaron. “Will you be okay? How do you feel? How much time do you have until…” She couldn’t finish that thought. She didn’t even want to consider what the until part would be.
He shrugged. “I feel fine, right now.”
“Anything happen? At all?” Symone nodded toward the fortress which lay at the end of the path, hoping not to hear the worst.
“Nothing.” His face was glum.
And Symone wasn’t sure if that wasn’t worse.
Or not.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It’d been seven hours, and Marco could have sworn he’d checked his watch a thousand times.
Symone was watching him. She nodded slightly.
Jaron pinned them both with his gaze. “Should you go see if they are there—I mean, here?” He grimaced. “I mean if they have arrived.”
“We should.” Symone nodded eagerly. “Maybe one of us should? And one stay down here with Jaron? In case he needs anything? Like—”
“You can do nothing if I need anything.”
“We could be a place you could go to—a host.” Symone’s tone had an undercurrent of panic.
“I will go into Orimith if I feel something happening. I will be with Alara. Do you find that difficult to understand?”
Symone shook her head empathetically.
“I understand,” Marco told Jaron, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. And he did understand. He could understand loving a woman that much. He could understand the concept of wanting to be with her for his final moments, if he knew that they might indeed be his final moments.
Symone met Marco’s eyes over Jaron’s shoulders.
“I do understand,” she said softly. Tears glistened in her eyes.
Later, Marco would recall this being the moment that he looked into those dark eyes and realized what that kind of love meant. Later, he would think of the thunderbolt that surged through his body.
“Let’s roll,” he told Symone, removing his hand from Jaron’s shoulder and taking Symone’s. “Let’s get Circe and get this damned show on the road.”
Symone and Marco hightailed it—again—through the portal that led to the prison island, up the stone staircase, past the Library of Archives turnoff, and up even more of the carved stone stairs until they reached the wall with the lever that led to the root cellar next to the kitchen. Symone pulled the lever, the doorway revealed itself with that loud grating sound, and—voila!—they were in the root cellar. They slipped out of the stairway and Symone drew the lever to shut it behind them.
“Now where?” Marco asked her. “Think they’ll be at the airstrip?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. But my guess is we go that way, maybe run into them on their way back to the villa.”
“As good a plan as any.” He headed toward the kitchen. Then he froze and put his hand on her arm.
Symone studied his face, wondering what put that look on consternation on his features.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Voices. In the kitchen? Or maybe approaching the kitchen.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Symone countered.
He pointed toward his ear and rolled his eyes. “Shifter hearing. Sensitive. Way more so than human.”
“Marco?”
His brows rose. He knew that voice. Knew it only too well. “Circe?”
He and Symone made it into the kitchen just as Circe—and a few others, he noticed—came in from another interior door.
“Circe!” He swooped his sister into a hug.
“I thought I heard your voice.” Her tone carried the smile he knew was on her face.
“You made good time,” Symone said.
“Of course.” Jenner popped up from behind Circe. “We gave the pilot a little incentive.”
“Ahem,” a voice said from behind Jenner. “You mean bribe.” From the shadows of the doorway stepped a tall blond man. His long hair was pulled back into a ponytail. With Nordic features, he emanated a preternatural power that made the air thrum. His eyes were of the bluest summer shade, though they brought to mind a hunter’s eyes.
Marco glanced at Circe for an explanation.
She offered a smile and waved the blond man forward. “Marco, meet Quake. Quake, my brother, Marco.” She cleared her throat. “Who seems to find trouble without a problem.”
Quake offered a nod. “Nice to meet you, Marco. And—” He turned that riveting gaze toward Symone.
Circe raised a brow at Marco. “Introductions, brother?”
“Apologies.” Marco grinned sheepishly. “Symone, my sister, Circe.”
“And Lincoln,” said a voice behind Jenner and Circe.
“Ah, yes. And Circe’s mate, Lincoln. Or Linc, as we call him.”
Linc extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Symone.”
Marco, done with the niceties, and eager to get answers, looked at Quake, but said to his sister, “When we spoke on the phone, you mentioned Quake…” He hoped she’d pick up where he was leaving off.
“Mae’s suggestion,” Circe offered.
Marco waited, because that really told him nothing.
“I gave Mae a very brief rundown. She said to call Quake.”
Marco turned to Quake. “Any idea why?”
Quake offered a half shrug. “Black Glade Coven. Witches. Elementals.”
That told Marco nothing, really. But he noticed that next to him, Symone had stiffened.
“This mean something to you?” he asked her.
“I’m familiar with the name Black Glade Coven.” Her face was expressionless. “But I’m not sure how all this ties in together.”
Quake stepped forward. “Seems Lucia was visiting Mae. She was the one who suggested Mae call me. Mae did. Long story, short. I called Circe. Now I’m here.”
“Ohhh-kay.” Like that meant something to Marco? Nope, not a thing. Who Lucia was, he wasn’t sure. He’d heard that name, but where and when, he had no clue. But he’d had enough of tarrying and waiting. And Jaron was at risk. So was Alara. “Let’s get the show on the road, then.”
“Follow me,” Symone said. Then she turned and looked at Jenner. “Not you. And shouldn’t you be helping Cedric?”
“He’s got it in hand. Plus, I didn’t know if I’d be needed.”
“You aren’t.” Her voice was firm.
“Never know when we might need more firepower,” Circe countered.
“True,” Linc agreed.
Marco put a hand on Symone’s shoulder. “Maybe he could be useful?”
She sighed in exasperation. “The things you see today are to remain private,” she warned Jenner. “And that goes for everyone here. I don’t want the Circle to come unhinged by learning I’ve taken you places where no unauthorized ones are allowed.”
“Got it.”
“Sure thing.”
“Okay.”
It seemed everyone was in agreement. Symone spun around and headed toward the wall with th
e lever.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Symone led the way with Marco next to her while the others trailed. Circe had apprised the others of the situation, so Symone hadn’t had to explain anything. She was left to her own thoughts for the entire trek back to Orimith.
She did not mind her younger brother trailing along, and truly, if they did need more skills to defeat Orimith, his presence could provide helpful, but she was confused by all the new people and the consequences she might have to deal with when the Circle learned of her decisions. She would have to defend her actions. She hoped she would not have to defend them in the event someone was actually hurt. She could possibly try to talk her way out of having shown outsiders the prison, and the way to the Archives, for those locations could be changed. A different spot could be selected for the Archives, and a new place could be created for a prison to keep offenders.
But if someone died—
She didn’t even want to think of that.
Marco took her hand. “You’re tense.”
“You would be, too, if you had as much at stake.” And yet, having said that, why was it that just the touch of his hand comforted her. Somewhat.
“The Circle?” he whispered.
“Exactly.”
“I’ll testify on your behalf.”
She gave him a sideways glance.
His expression was serious. “I mean it.”
“Thanks. We’ll see.”
They’d finally reached the fortress, but stayed hidden behind the brush and trees while assessing the structure. There was no sign of Orimith or Alara.
Only Jaron, who looked pale beneath his dark complexion. He looked at everyone, but his gaze lingered on Quake. “You look familiar,” he told the tall Nordic-appearing man.
“That is not surprising,” Quake said, stepping forward, toward the fortress. “Allow me to handle this alone.”
“Wait,” Symone put a hand out to stop him, “it’s not safe. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”
Quake sidestepped her reach. “Orimith cannot hurt me.”
Everyone—every single one of them—did a doubletake.
Symone found that a little bit of a stretch. “What makes you think so?”
“History” was all Quake said as he strode briskly toward the fortress and slipped into the entrance that had no door.
She gasped. He’d clearly breached the perimeter’s enchantments. “He’s in danger,” she warned Circe.
“You don’t know what he’s capable of,” Circe said.
“Do you?” Marco asked his sister.
“I know he’s an Ancient.”
What the hell does that even mean, Symone wondered. And Quake said he wanted to handle it alone. Alone? And still she wondered what being an Ancient meant. She’d have asked, but just that moment, her peripheral vision caught sight of movement.
And there he was. Orimith.
“I thought I felt someone enter. What—” Orimith’s eyes widened. His nostrils flared. “You.” His voice carried on the breeze, allowing all of their party to hear.
“You have been up to mischief.” Quake shook his head as though disappointed in a child’s bad behavior. “It is almost as though, all those years ago, you did not learn your lesson. You have not heeded the warnings issued.”
“I am not bound by warning or lessons from long ago. Those days are over.” Orimith’s eyes glowed with power.
“You have taken captives. You have made prisoners of the Zimoshi people.”
“That is not your concern!” Orimith struck the wall with his fist.
Quake snapped his fingers. A low rumble permeated the earth, shaking trees, crumbling part of the fortress’s loose stones. He sighed. “Release them.”
“No.”
The ground shook slightly, causing Symone to lose her footing and falter. Marco put his arm around her to keep her from falling.
“This is—” she had no words.
“It is.” Marco agreed as though he knew what she meant.
A blast of cold air blew past them, emanating from the fortress. A white and blue burst of frost followed the blast of freezing air.
“That has to be Quake’s creation. Orimith’s elemental skills do not allow him to break through the barrier of the enchantment.” Marco rubbed his chin. “With the ground shaking, I thought at first he was an elemental. Now, I guess he’s maybe a dual elemental?”
Symone was clueless when it came to elementals. Whatever Marco was talking about was news to her.
“No,” Circe said. “He’s one of the Ancients. One of the original elementals. There are only three of them. I think.”
“You know about this stuff?” Symone asked Marco.
“News to me. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as an Ancient.”
“He just told me on the plane,” Circe explained. “All I know is that Ancients can access any of the skills. They are not to be known about or of. Sometimes they pretend to be mere mortals. Sometimes they pretend to be mere elementals.” She smirked. “Not that there’s anything simple about being an elemental.”
Quake and Orimith had lowered their voices, sounding like nothing more than a hiss to Symone. She wondered if Marco could hear them with that super strong shifter hearing he had. She tugged on his sleeve. “What are they saying? Can you hear them?”
“Oh, I can hear them. But they’re not speaking a language I know. And I know several languages.”
“They’re speaking the language of the times from which they come,” Circe told them.
“This is incredible,” Jenner said. “I can’t believe I’m witnessing this.”
“Same,” said Linc.
Jaron stepped forward. “I think—”
And with that, he collapsed, falling into Marco and Symone. Linc and Marco caught him before he landed on the ground.
“Shit,” Marco uttered.
Jaron’s eyes fluttered open. “I will not make it.”
“Damn you.” Marco grabbed him by the shoulders. “Get into me, now. Save yourself. What good will you be if you are dead and Alara is saved.”
“I do not—”
“Damn it. Get in here now.” Marco’s jaw was clenched tightly. He looked at his sister. “Do something.”
“I’ll try. But this—he doesn’t seem strong enough.”
With that, a shimmering sheet of light appeared between Marco and Jaron. Marco doubled over, and then Jaron was gone.
And Circe collapsed, unconscious, into Linc’s arms.
Linc looked up at Symone. “Jesus. She better be okay. And the baby too.”
Symone was stunned. “She’s expecting?”
Marco straightened, a weird look on his face.
“Jaron okay?” Symone asked him.
“Yeah,” he nodded slowly. “But—ah, man, this is weird. My sister’s in here too. Well, her body’s not. How the hell did she…” Now he shook his head.
Linc brushed Circe’s hair from her face. “She spent a lot of one-on-one time with Quake. I overheard them talking about taking someone into someone else’s world. Seems she was saying she didn’t have the skills or confidence. Or something. My concern is not only for Circe, but also for the baby. This is not something she does on any kind of a regular basis. Anyway, maybe Quake must have taught her something? Like how is her body still here? And Jaron’s is not?”
“Well, I can answer that,” Marco told him. “Jaron’s the elemental. Circe’s not. She has an elemental in her. But she’s not an elemental. Big difference. She can’t do what he can. Because that’s the way of elementals. They don’t have bodies.”
Linc grunted. “Seems I remember her mentioning something about that. Vaguely. Guess I better make damned sure nothing happens to you while she’s locked inside your head. She and the baby are counting on you.”
“Mhm,” Marco said with a tight smile. “I won’t let anything happen to my sister. Don’t you worry.”
A sound from the fortress tore Symone�
��s attention back to the conflict between Orimith and Quake.
Except now, there was no conflict. There was a cloud of dark smoke covering the fortress, making everything inside indiscernible.
She grabbed Marco’s arm. “Look.”
He raised his gaze from Circe to where Symone pointed. “What the hell.” Then he paused. “Shit. Jaron’s having a meltdown in my head. Circe’s trying to calm him down.” Marco gripped his head. “Settle down in there. Damn, already.”
Symone found herself happier than ever that she had no elemental of her own to deal with.
“Want me to go check it out, make sure Quake’s okay?” Jenner took a step toward the smoke-filled fortress.
Symone grabbed her brother’s arm. “Absolutely not.”
He gave her a look.
“I will not have you going in there. You do not know how to defend yourself against their brand of magic.”
“I have my own.”
“I said, no,” she hissed. “Do not make me—”
“What would you do, Noni? Go to the Circle? You’ll have your own explaining to do, I believe.”
She clamped her mouth shut, her lips a tight, grim line.
Marco stepped closer to the two of them. “Don’t threaten your sister.”
Jenner glanced at Marco, then at Symone. “What’s this?”
Symone felt her cheeks grow warm. She wanted to rage at Marco, but at the same time, a part of her felt a joy that he’d stood up for her.
“She’s helping Jaron and Alara.” Marco’s words were clipped. “I wouldn’t see her pay for doing the right thing.”
She narrowed her eyes, now completely unsure about why he’d defended her.
“The smoke is dissipating.” Jenner switched the conversation.
Marco stepped closer.
Symone joined him, holding her breath. Inwardly, she prayed for a good outcome to this endeavor. That Quake had prevailed.
Five figures stood in the shadowy smoke.
Symone gasped.
“What the hell?” Jenner whispered.
The smoke dissipated even further, revealing Quake, Alara, Orimith, and another two individuals. A man and a woman. From their attire and their features—so similar to Alara’s—it was evident they were Zimoshi.
