EIGHT
Zarek materialized back inside his chambers with one hand braced against the door as if he’d misjudged the distance.
What’s worse…
“She could feel me,” he said to the empty room.
And that was a big problem.
He straightened slowly and crossed the room, which had been his sanctuary for centuries.
And yet his pulse refused to settle.
He had gone to her again, telling himself it was protocol, nothing more. Just another necessary check. Given the strength of the witch’s wards around the bookshop and her house, he hadn’t been able to get close to her. Until tonight.
Every other time he’d kept his distance. Hating himself for doing it, but he had to see her—even though he’d quickly withdraw the instant she turned to look for him. Yet somehow, she was reacting quicker to his presence.
Zarek removed his weapons, slotting each blade back into the armory rack kept beside his desk. The routine of disarming should have steadied him.
It didn’t.
Tonight, she had known he was there.
He didn’t mean to get close enough to inhale her soft fragrance, or to feel her anguished torment from another nightmare, and then he’d touched her hair.
Him! The man who burned with his touch dared to touch her.
Even though he’d worn gloves, the risk was far too great, because the only reason he got that close to anyone was to kill.
Helviti!
He pushed his coat from his shoulders, leaving it draped over the back of the chair. The weight in his chest did not ease as he replayed their last interaction.
There had been ash in the grill. Salt, too. Not scattered in a panic, but used intentionally, like an old ward, to destroy any evidence of that night. So she was trying to forget.
There was a knock at the door.
“Zarek?” Martar didn’t wait for an answer as he pushed it open. “You dropped again. Just for a minute this time.”
Zarek turned. “I was with you.”
“No,” Martar said calmly. “You weren’t. When we crossed back from our patrols, you slipped off the perimeter. No echo. No magickal resonance of your power. Then you were back.”
“I’m here now.”
Martar closed the door, then leaned his back against it and crossed his arms. “That’s the fourth or fifth time in as many nights this has happened.”
“Hmph.” Zarek headed for the bathing chamber and stepped under the shower before Martar could press further. He let the hot water pound against his skin as he braced his hands against the stone walls and closed his eyes.
The problem was not that she could feel him, or that he felt her, too. The problem was that when he was near her, his brothers could not.
That was unacceptable.
The mortal realm was their battlefield, and the Vanguard survived because they were never alone. They could sense one another through their magick, move as one and reinforce each other without words. If that connection fractured, they’d be left exposed.
“Martar,” Zarek called over the sound of the water. “Is the professor still active?”
“The mortal academic, Macrombie? Unfortunately. Why?”
“Because if there is an interference with our ability to read magick in the mortal realm, we need to know how. And who.”
Martar chuckled lightly. “So, it’s a fishing expedition, eh? And this has nothing to do with a woman who shouldn’t know you exist?”
Zarek scowled. “It has everything to do with the Vanguard.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Zarek dunked his head under the showerhead, letting the heat fill the room with steam.
He told himself this was strategy. That the weight in his chest was fatigue, and not that pull toward the woman with the mismatched eyes that showed her fears, tears, and lack of sleep.
He wanted to take away her pain, erase the memory of that night, when by rights there should be no connection at all.
He had work to do. He needed to forget her and focus on the job.
And yet he could not stop thinking about her.
It was bordering on an obsession.
Zarek straightened, water streaming down his face as his jaw tightened.
He was a captain who had a duty to protect the realm, not behave like some predator who lurked in the shadows.
If it were anyone else doing this to her—tracking her movements or appearing uninvited in her yard at night—he’d put his fist through their ribcage and rip out their spleen without hesitation.
Yet his reasons were justifiable. He was keeping her safe. Monitoring the situation. Ensuring no further threats emerged.
Except that’s what they all said, wasn’t it?
The water continued to pound against his shoulders, but it did nothing to wash away the truth settling inside his chest.
Helviti! Something was wrong with him. He’d never behaved like this; it was unacceptable.
Yet, whatever was hijacking his will was getting worse.