Chapter 20 Battle Won, Now the War
BATTLE WON, NOW THE WAR
brANDON
The Masterson estate felt surreal after the chaos of the rescue. The lights were too bright. The voices too loud. Too many people were asking questions and wanting answers while the only thing Brandon wanted to do was find a quiet, dark room where he could collapse with Muriel in his arms.
She’d come for him. Merged her magic, wholly and completely, with his. Bonus: She hadn't let go of his hand once, even driving one-handed to maintain the connection.
He wasn’t complaining.
“Sit,” Armand commanded, gesturing to a chair in his study. The ancient vampire's expression was clinical as he examined the suppressant burns on Brandon's wrists, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. “The burns are already healing now that your magic is flowing properly.”
“Told you,” Brandon muttered. Had Muriel not insisted on having Armand look at him, they’d already be back at his place.
“Yes, well, you also told me you were 'fine' after channeling natural magic for hours while injured and suppressed too, so forgive me for not taking your word for it,” Muriel said. There was an edge to her voice that hadn’t been there before.
Armand straightened, his amused gaze moving to Muriel. “Keep an eye on him. If the burns worsen or he develops a fever—”
“I'll bring him right back,” Muriel promised.
The ease with which she said it—the casual certainty that she'd be there to notice if something was wrong—made Brandon's chest swell.
Jason appeared in the doorway, looking for all intents and purposes like he’d just stepped out of a photo shoot instead of a magical battle with trained operatives. “The prisoners are secured. Zarek's team has them in the lower levels.”
“All of them?” Brandon asked.
“All of them. Including your friend Medraut.” Jason's eyes said he knew exactly who Medraut was.
“Vlane wants to have a conversation with them about Consilium operations. Armand has questions about their artifact knowledge. And Karthik...” He lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug. “Well. Demon Lords gonna demon.”
Brandon smirked. “Did you really just say ‘demon lords gonna demon?’ “
Jason grinned. “He says we owe him for giving Marcella the night off to help.”
Despite everything, Brandon felt a flicker of dark satisfaction.
The Collectors had spent centuries hunting supernatural beings, draining witches, and serving the Consilium's twisted agenda.
A little time in Karthik's not-so-tender care seemed like poetic justice. The demon lord could demon very well.
“They'll be kept alive,” Vlane said, entering behind Jason. The Master vampire's ebony eyes were cold. “They have information we need. But alive doesn't mean comfortable.”
Brandon smiled, remembering that Medraut had said something similar to him about death being preferable in some cases. He felt not even the slightest hint of sympathy for the crazy bastard.
Muriel's hand tightened on Brandon's. Her satisfaction flowed through him, and underneath it, her soul-deep protectiveness. These people had hurt him. Had tried to use him as bait. She didn't have an ounce of sympathy for them either.
“Go home,” Armand said, not unkindly. “Both of you. Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Or the day after,” Muriel said.
“Or the day after,” Armand agreed with a smile and twinkling eyes.
Muriel stood, tugging him up with her. “Come on. Let's go home.”
The words hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. She'd said home. Not The Glan Tann. Not your place. Home.
Like it was hers too.
Jason drove them in silence, though Brandon caught him casting frequent glances at them in the rearview mirror. Muriel's hand stayed laced with his the entire ride, her thumb tracing absent patterns on his skin that made it hard to think about anything but her touch.
Was that… tenderness?
He had to be imagining it. The adrenaline, the exhaustion, and the bond were amplifying everything until he couldn't tell what was real and what was just wishful thinking.
The Glas Tann looked exactly as he'd left it. Plants were thriving in the windows, books were stacked on every surface, protective wards vibrated with quiet welcome.
This was his sanctuary. His home. And hopefully, hers too.
“Thank you,” he said to Jason as they climbed out. “For everything.”
Jason nodded, his expression softening slightly.
Inside, Muriel released his hand, only to slide her arm around his waist. “Upstairs,” she commanded.
It felt like heaven. For a while there, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to feel her touch him again, and he wasn’t about to squander it.
“When did you become so bossy?” he said, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.
“When I realized what losing you would do to me,” she said somberly.
They had so much to talk about, but now that the adrenaline was fading, exhaustion crashed over him like a wave. His ribs ached. His wrists burned. Every muscle in his body felt like it had been kicked and punched.
Because it had.
She guided him toward the stairs, taking most of his weight. “Come on.”
He let her help him up, enjoying the feel of her too much to protest. Then he was sitting on the edge of his bed while Muriel knelt in front of him.
His mind—and body—went to entirely inappropriate places.
It didn’t matter that he was running on empty, or that just a few hours ago, she didn’t even want to talk to him.
“I can do this myself,” he said as she reached for his boots.
“I know. Let me help anyway.”
The gentleness in her voice undid something in his chest. She unlaced his boots with careful fingers, then pulled them off along with his socks. Her hands lingered on his ankles for just a moment, warm and sure, and through the bond he felt her relief that he was here, safe, whole.
She really had been worried.
She got to her feet and said softly, “Arms up.”
He lifted them, wincing as the movement pulled at his bruised ribs. Muriel's hands were careful as she eased his shirt over his head, her fingertips ghosting over the worst of the bruises, trailing lightly over the runes that had been tattooed over his chest and arms.
“They hurt you.” Her voice was quiet, but fury simmered beneath it.
“I'm okay. It looks worse than it is.”
She blinked rapidly and looked down, but not before he saw the telltale sheen of moisture in her eyes.
“Hey.” Brandon caught her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. “It’s okay. We're safe. It's over.”
Through the bond, he felt her fear and something else. Guilt?
She couldn’t possibly blame herself for what happened tonight, could she?
Before he could lock onto that, she pulled away. “You should get some sleep.”
Just like that, the distance was back.
The tendril of hope he’d felt withered and died. Of course. She'd saved him because she believed she had brought the Collectors to Mythic and felt that this was all her fault. It didn't mean she'd forgiven him. It didn't mean she wanted to stay.
“You should rest too,” he managed. “You channeled a lot of magic tonight.”
“I will,” she said, pulling the door closed behind her.
Brandon lay back on the bed, still wearing his jeans because he didn't have the energy to take them off. The ceiling blurred above him as exhaustion tugged insistently at him.
Dimly, he heard Muriel moving around the apartment. Getting a cup of tea. Padding softly to the guest room.
At least she hadn’t left. Even if it was out of a sense of guilt, she was here, and he’d take it.
Tomorrow was a different story. With the immediate threat removed, she no longer needed him or his protection. She could return to the estate, or back to her own life, or anywhere that wasn't here.
Brandon closed his eyes and let sleep take him, the bond humming quietly beneath his healing ribs. Tomorrow, he'd figure out how to let her go. Tonight, he'd let himself pretend she might have a change of heart.
The last thing he felt before sleep claimed him completely was the distant awareness of Muriel in her room, talking softly to the Codex.
Then… nothing.