Chapter 4
Chapter four
Ruger was jealous.
Not in the traditional sense. He knew Skye didn’t have any romantic interest in his mate, nor did she show any signs of attraction.
He just hated how easily she related to Luka, how she communicated with him so effortlessly. Benefits of being over a thousand years old, he supposed.
Of course, he felt guilty for his uncharitable thoughts. Luka’s entire existence had been turned inside out, and if the female could bring him even a moment of normalcy, he should be grateful.
And in some ways, he was. It just stung that he couldn’t relate to his mate on the same level, and he never would. Even if he spent the next decade reading from history books, it wouldn’t be a substitute for lived experience.
Repeatedly throughout the meal, he had to remind himself that it wasn’t a competition. Both he and Skye could be a part of the demon’s life in different ways. Still, the sense of exclusion gnawed at him every time Luka smiled or laughed at something he didn’t understand.
It wasn’t just their hostess, either. Everywhere he looked, he found people staring both openly and surreptitiously. From the moment they had walked through the doors of the castle, Luka had been garnering a lot of attention.
After having the male to himself for the past three days, he struggled with the idea of sharing him. Every glance triggered his possessiveness. Every lingering stare nearly pushed him over the edge.
Maybe they should have waited a little longer to accept Skye’s invitation.
“Do not fret, taavi.” Luka took his hand beneath the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “In all the world, you are most important to me.”
Ruger cleared his throat and turned his face away in embarrassment.
He’d never had a problem speaking his mind, but he also knew not every thought needed to be said aloud. With Luka, he didn’t have that option. Even when he tried, he hadn’t yet figured out how to block his inner monologue from his mate.
“But it pleases me to know what you are thinking. How else will I know what you need?”
His next breath caught in his throat, and a tremor shuddered through him at the simple statement spoken with quiet earnestness.
He’d spent most of his life being the anchor—the one others looked to for answers, for comfort, for direction. Rather than begrudge that role, he had embraced it, but that often meant his own needs ended up on the back burner.
The habit of self-sacrifice had burrowed into him so deeply that the thought of allowing someone else to share the weight felt wrong. It unnerved him, this invitation to vulnerability, exposing desires he’d long ago tucked away in favor of responsibility.
Yet, as Luka’s thumb traced idle circles over his knuckles, a hush crept into the usual commotion of his mind and softened the edges of his uncertainty. Maybe, for once, he didn’t need to have all the answers.
“If it eases your mind, I do not enjoy Miss Maddock’s company.” His gaze slid across that table to Skye, watching her as she conversed with one of the waitstaff. “She makes me uneasy.”
Ruger snorted, then immediately coughed to try to cover his faux pas. He imagined a lot of people felt that way about the female but were too proud to admit it.
“Yeah, that actually helps a lot.” Cradling Luka’s hand between his own, he looked up at him, searching his expression. “We can leave if you want.”
His spine stiffened, and the muscles in his jaw strained. “We have not been dismissed.”
The stench of anxiety flooded his nose, burning his nostrils and making him recoil. He still didn’t know the full extent of what Luka had suffered, but the small pieces of his past that he had shared broke Ruger’s fucking heart.
As much as he hated to admit it, not every problem could be solved with words. They sure as hell didn’t override centuries of conditioning. Even through actions and experience, it would take time, and all he could do was be there to make the transition a little easier.
“Now,” Skye said when the server left, turning her attention back to them. “Where were we?”
Ruger sat up a little straighter. “Actually, I think we’re going to call it a night.”
“Not yet.” She held her hand up to halt that idea in its tracks. “I have a few questions first.”
Ruffled by her presumptuous demeanor, he stiffened, his eyes narrowed in warning. “And I think those questions can wait.”
“Taavi,” Luka hissed, his voice low and urgent. “No.”
Ruger took a deep breath and sent him a comforting smile. “It’s okay. She’s not going to smite me for disagreeing with her.”
He hoped.
She might be a powerful Otherling, the owner of the hotel, and his new boss, but he had never known her to be vicious. Intense, maybe a little theatrical, but never unreasonable.
“An interesting idea,” she mused, her painted lips quirking on one side. Then she laughed, the sound almost musical. “Not really my style, though.”
If her words had been meant to ease Luka’s concerns, they didn’t work. If anything, he looked even more worried.
“I mean no harm,” she added, sobering. “I actually want to help you.”
Ruger followed her gaze to Luka’s hand where it rested on the table, to the golden cuff that glowed around his wrist. Gritting his teeth, he glanced down, eyeing the matching one on his other arm.
They weren’t tangible. Now that he and Luka had bonded, he could see them, but he couldn’t feel them. He couldn’t unlock them with a key and burn them, no matter how much he wanted that.
Though Luka claimed they didn’t cause him discomfort, Ruger couldn’t imagine his mate felt good about them, either. Although no puppeteer currently existed to pull the strings, the shackles still represented a magical contract of ownership.
“Can you remove the binding spell?”
“No,” Skye admitted. “That doesn’t mean it can’t be broken, though.”
Ruger straightened and moved to the edge of his seat, angling his body toward her. “How?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Folding her hands in front of her, she turned her attention to Luka. “When were you bound?”
“I was sold as a child in the thirteenth century.”
He spoke matter-of-factly, without any hint of emotion. Ruger couldn’t be so detached, however, and he winced as pain lanced through his chest. No wonder his mate expected so little from people. He had never known anything else.
“Who was your master?”
Ruger bristled again. Logically, he understood Skye was merely using terminology Luka would understand, but he didn’t like it.
“That asshole wasn’t his master.”
Under the table, Luka squeezed his fingers, but when he spoke, he addressed Skye. “Castor Gregori.”
Skye leaned back, and her eyes flared at the corners, a subtle, barely perceptible crack in her perfect composure. If Ruger hadn’t been watching her so closely, he might have missed it.
“You know that name.”
“I do,” she confessed after a brief hesitation. “So do you. Though you would know him as Envy Castille.”
Ruger froze, his pulse pounding in his temples as he absorbed the information. The longer he thought about it, the sicker he felt, his stomach roiling with a mixture of guilt and disgust.
Yes, he knew the eccentric lead vocalist of Midnight Magick. He had dined with him. Partied with him. Early in Remi’s career, he had even toured with the band, opening for them in sold-out venues. While he wouldn’t consider Envy a friend, they had been on good terms for years.
Goddess, it made him fucking ill. Not only was Luka’s tormentor still alive and well, but he led a privileged life of fame and wealth. Attractive, charming, and talented, people around the world adored him. Even critics of his music could find no fault in his personality.
“I’m going to kill him.”
Beside him, Luka flinched, but Skye only laughed.
“You wouldn’t get within a hundred yards of him.”
Ruger’s lip curled. “He’s just a mage.”
“No,” she corrected, her tone deadly serious. “He is ancient, clever, and a formidable mystic.”
Ruger deflated, his righteous anger tempered by genuine trepidation. While some might think mystics nothing more the supercharged witches, that would be a gross misrepresentation of their abilities.
He had met many gifted mages in his time, but none that he believed unstoppable. Mystics, however, harnessed primordial energy—a nearly limitless source of celestial power.
But the practice left deep scars. It twisted their magic, corrupted it. It warped their minds and darkened their hearts, making them treacherous and unpredictable.
Or so the stories went.
Like humans, Otherlings weren’t immune to exaggeration that sometimes veered into myth and legend. Speculation abounded, rumors and hearsay spread like wildfire, making it difficult to separate fact from fiction.
For him, he tended to believe the truth resided somewhere in the middle. He didn’t fear them necessarily, but he did view them with a certain amount of caution.
“What do you suggest we do?” he asked, careful not to let panic seep into his voice.
The possessive part of him hated the idea of his mate being bound in any way to the musician. The softer, more protective instincts worried for Luka’s safety.
If Envy still had influence over him, what happened when he found out his curse had been broken?
“I don’t know,” Skye answered, her brow creased in uncharacteristic concern. “I suggest we figure it out soon, though.”
“I don’t like the way you said that.” Of course, he wanted an immediate solution, but something in her tone tripped his alarm bells. “What do you know?”
Meeting his eyes across the table, she took a deep breath and released his slowly. “He’s on the guest list for the festival.”