Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 115860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“Caden, I’ve known him all my life. He’s a dear friend. I’m not about to let him die senselessly if I can prevent it.”
She’s a brave soul. “Every other surrogate we’ve sent has run screaming.”
“I believe, deep down, he’ll recognize me before he does any serious harm. Now, whether he’ll accept me is another story.”
Is she being too optimistic? “He doesn’t know himself.”
She concedes my point with a nod. “Yes, well… It isn’t going as well as I would like. The energy he’s derived from my fear and concern simply isn’t enough. He expends it all thrashing and calling Anka’s name. Your brother needs more.”
“Meaning?”
“With the previous surrogates, he growled that he scented another man, then attacked them. I think I might have a solution. You’re welcome to observe.”
Something in the witch’s tone makes me pause. “Perhaps we should discuss this in detail before you do anything rash.”
Sabelle shakes her head, golden curls brushing her slender arms. “I need to do this my way.”
“But your safety—”
“I’m fine.” She pats my arm. “Why don’t we meander outside and round the back? We’ll attract less attention when we teleport.”
I know a firm change of subject when I hear one. I give up—for now—as we make our way into the windy evening chill.
Once out of sight, Sabelle positions us in shadows, wraps her hand in mine and poof! One minute I'm standing in a dark alley, the next I fight a black, stomach-turning void. Bloody magic! Then I’m standing in Bram’s foyer. And the man himself is there waiting.
“Glad to see you’re here. I was getting worried.” He inspects his sister, clearly reassuring himself that no harm has come to her.
She sighs. “I’m eighty-four, not four, brother dear. I’m perfectly capable of finding someone and bringing them here.”
“But not necessarily without avoiding trouble.”
Sabelle rolls her eyes, then turns to me. “If you’ll excuse me, I have important things to do. Entertain him for a bit, will you? I’m worn out.”
With that parting shot, she disappears.
Bram casts me a rueful glance. “I’ll trade you a brother in mate mourning for a mischievous sister.”
I almost laugh. “Thanks, but no. Honestly, I don’t want either problem.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“You look exhausted.” I know I shouldn’t ask, lest I find myself deeper in magical muck. But as much as I dislike some of Bram’s tactics, the wizard has taken my brother in, offered his home, his assistance, and now, his sister. “Any luck finding your mate?”
Bram winces, and his strain shows in the tired lines etched into his face. “No. It’s as if she vanished. I feel…nothing except her absence.”
“But she has not broken your bond?” The last thing anyone needs is for Bram to be in Lucan’s condition. Without him, I fear making my brother whole would be impossible.
“She’s still mine, yet all my attempts to trace her lead nowhere. It’s maddening.”
And odd. Then again, magic can be difficult, baffling, and frustratingly cryptic. “What do you know about her? If she’s human, have you tried human means to trace her? Do you know where she lives, her phone number, relatives’ names?”
“As far as I can tell, everything she told me is a lie.” He scrubs a hand over his tense expression. “I’m going to be forced to call a damn surrogate for energy. Mating is effective; I don’t want any woman but her. Somehow…” Bram breaks off with a shake of his head. “Never mind. I’ll work it out. Go see your brother.”
“If I haven’t said thanks already—” I choke out. I dislike being beholden to Bram, but the words need saying.
“Don’t. Lucan is like family to me, as is Anka. I only hope we can reunite them.”
I’m beginning to fear that’s impossible as I turn to the giant staircase on my left. One step at a time, I trudge up, dread pulsing through me as I climb to the top, then march to the door behind which Lucan lies.
God, I’d rather be anywhere but here.
Taking a deep breath, I lift my hand to the knob of the closed door, wondering how my life has become hellish so quickly. What must Lucan’s be like, suffering the worst day in and day out as his life force drains away?
I open the door. Inside, the drapes are drawn, shutting out the weak twilight sun. The shadowed room reeks of Lucan—an acrid mix of sweat and rage and desperation. The vibrant wizard in his prime has been reduced to a terrible, panting example of magic’s illogic and cruelty.
I’d be furious all over again if I wasn’t so beat down by despair.
Bracing my forearm against the doorjamb, I hesitate. Though I love Lucan and our sibling bond dictates that I care for him, I don’t want to walk in.
When I was a boy, I helplessly watched my younger brother, Westin, die. Laughing toddler one moment, corpse the next. The tragedy was a stab through my heart. The possibility of reliving the trauma of a beloved sibling’s death terrifies me.