Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
PORTIA
Ilanded hard on my ass.
Pain shot up my hip, and I collapsed on my side, the air knocked from my lungs.
Coughing, I rolled onto my back and stared at a pale blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds.
Sunlight played through trees that swayed overhead, their leaves rustling in a warm breeze that carried the acrid, unmistakable stench of car exhaust.
Slowly, city sounds intruded. The rumble of traffic. The distant blare of car horns. And, more faintly, the wail of a siren.
My dragon retreated, taking all my anger with her. It fled like water circling a drain, leaving me hollow and trembling.
Empty.
I sat up, and the trembling intensified. Tavish and Albie weren’t next to me. They were gone.
Scrambling to my knees, I scanned my surroundings.
Grass spread under me like a thick, green carpet.
Trees bordered a broad, winding concrete path lined with several wrought iron benches.
The path cut through the greenery, branching off like forks in a highway.
A group of children on roller skates sped around a distant bend.
Their shrieks and laughter echoed after them.
But there was no sign of Tavish and Albie.
Oh gods, what had I done?
I’d left them behind. I’d run from them and jumped through time alone.
The bag. Where was the chronomancer’s bag?
I patted my chest, my stomach, searching frantically for the familiar weight of the velvet pouch. Nothing. I ran my hands down my sides, checked the grass around me, spun in a circle looking for the telltale plum color.
Gone. It was gone.
“No, no, no,” I whispered, crawling through the grass and sweeping my palms over the ground. Maybe it had fallen when I landed. Maybe it was just a few feet away.
But there was nothing. Just grass and dirt and a few scattered leaves.
I must have dropped it in Razrothia. Or lost it during the jump.
A sob burst from my lips, and I clapped a shaking hand to my mouth.
Your recklessness is a curse.
Tavish’s sharp, frustrated voice ran through my head, his words an echo of my father’s the last time I saw him.
Your recklessness is a curse.
Maybe I was doomed to hear it from everyone I loved. My chest tightened.
I loved them.
Gods, I loved them. Somewhere between the cave in medieval England and the hotel in Bucharest, I’d fallen in love with Tavish and Albie.
And now they were gone.
I pressed my knuckles to my mouth, my breath coming in short gasps. They were gone, and I had no idea where—or when—they were. Were they still in Razrothia? Were they safe? Were they—?
No. I shoved the thought away before it could fully form. Because Tavish and Albie were not dead. I’d feel it.
Wouldn’t I?
We’d never sealed the mate bond, but they were mine. I’d known it from the beginning. I’d just been too stubborn and scared to admit what was right in front of me. If they were dead, I’d feel the loss like a wound.
Dragging in a few deep breaths, I got to my feet. I started walking, following one of the paths because I couldn’t just stand still and do nothing. My square-heeled Mary Janes clicked against the concrete.
Tears burned my eyes.
Tavish had buckled them on me. The memory of his fingers on my ankles, his touch sure and certain, was so strong I had to look down to make sure he wasn’t kneeling in front of me.
But he wasn’t, of course.
I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.
A park spread before me, the paths winding between trees and flowerbeds bursting with roses and marigolds.
More people appeared as I walked. A woman in white gloves pushed a pram, the canopy pulled low to shield her baby from the sun.
Two men in suits and skinny ties played chess at a picnic table.
A young couple ate ice cream cones on a park bench, the woman’s pink cat-eye sunglasses the same shade as her capris.
But the other women in the park wore long shorts or knee-length skirts. Most of the men wore hats.
Everyone looked slightly dressed up. Put together in a way that was both familiar and strange. American accents buzzed around me, and the setting clicked into place.
Central Park.
I was in New York City. And if I had to guess, it was the 1960s.
More than one person cast me curious looks as they passed, and I smoothed a self-conscious hand down my dress, which was sleeveless and covered in tiers of dangling black beads that shivered around my calves.
The design might have fit in just fine at a dinner party, but it was too flashy for a casual walk in the park. I wasn’t even wearing underwear.
I reached for my dragon, waiting for the familiar itch to bloom over my skin.
I strained toward the fire that always burned too hot.
Waited for the ropes of my control to fray and snap.
But there was nothing. My beast was burrowed so deep she was little more than a faint shadow at the edge of my mind.
Ducking my head, I walked faster, eventually making my way to the street.
Skyscrapers loomed in every direction, and yellow taxis belched exhaust. Humans crossed the street and wove up and down the sidewalks.
A hot dog vendor called out to passersby.
A cocktail of scents filled the air, roasting meat, exhaust fumes, and the slightly sweet scent of rotting garbage forming layers that swelled and receded like waves against the shore.
I stopped at a newsstand, my gaze catching on the stack of papers.
The New York Times
June 14, 1964
“You in a show?”
I turned. A man in a fedora grinned at me, displaying a gap between tobacco-stained teeth.
“Excuse me?” I asked. “I didn’t catch that.”
“Broadway.” He gestured to my dress. “Thought you might be one of them actresses.”
My fingers went to a fringe of beads before I could stop myself. “Um, no. I’m not an actress.”
He cocked his head. “Funny accent. You sure you’re not on Broadway?”
“Positive,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows, looking unconvinced. “Well, good luck to ya.” Tipping his hat, he walked away.
My mind raced as he blended into the crowd.
I needed to blend in, too. Eventually, the sun would set, and I’d need a place to sleep.
But I didn’t even have a bra, let alone money.
The chronomancer’s bag was gone, and my dragon was burrowed so deep in my mind it was like she didn’t exist. I was stranded in 1964 New York with nothing but a flapper dress and a pair of Mary Janes.
Panic bubbled up, threatening to overwhelm me. I forced it down and kept walking.
I wandered through the streets, letting the crowd carry me. Neon signs flashed overhead. Music spilled from open doorways. Theater marquees announced showings of Hello, Dolly! and Funny Girl.
The sun beat down on my bare shoulders. Sweat gathered at my hairline, and blisters formed on my heels. Fatigue and hunger meant my body was slow to repair them, and the pinching pain built with every step.
After what felt like hours, I stumbled toward a sidewalk cafe and plopped into a metal chair at an empty table.
A waitress in a white apron bustled from inside. “What can I get you?”
I stared at her. “I don’t have any money.”
She pursed her lips. “Then you can’t sit here.”
Memories of Albie rushed me, his brown eyes twinkling behind his glasses as he charmed the human hotel worker in Bucharest to bring us food and clothing.
“Please,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I won’t be any trouble. Just give me five minutes, and I’ll leave.”
Something in my face must have softened her. She sighed. “Five minutes. But if my boss comes out, you gotta go.”
“Thank you,” I said.
She left, and I dropped my head into my hands.
What was I supposed to do? I didn’t have the chronomancer’s spell bag. Without it, I was stuck, with no way out of the 1960s.
And I didn’t have my mates. The lump returned to my throat.
Were they safe? Were they looking for me? Had the Razroth hurt them?
No. Of all the possibilities, that was the least likely.
Tavish and Albie were full-blooded dragon shifters.
Albie was lightning fast, and Tavish was a skilled warrior with probably thousands of battles to his name.
They wouldn’t let themselves get captured, and they wouldn’t give up searching for me.
Tavish had said he’d follow me through time if he had to. And Albie…
My throat thickened.
Albie with his warm brown eyes and gentle hands. He’d looked at me like I was the answer to every question he’d ever asked. His gentle, serious face appeared in my mind, and his words by the stream in England flowed through my head.
I found what I was really looking for.
A hot tear sprinted down my cheek. Then another.
There had to be a reason I’d landed in New York.
I was supposed to intervene, but how? I tried to imagine what Tavish and Albie would have said, my mind supplying me with images of them sitting around the table.
The three of us would have weighed our options and made a plan.
Probably, Tavish would have devoured half the cafe menu and declared it “passable.” Albie would have teased him before helping me reach the best solution.
But none of that could happen. Once again, I’d lost control of my dragon and ruined everything.
I reached for my beast again, but she was a tiny speck in my mind. My magic was dormant. The prickling, irritating itch to shift was gone. I’d spent a lifetime dreading it. Now that I wanted it, I couldn’t find it.
Another scalding tear raced down my cheek. Maybe I was stuck in 1964 forever. I could try to find my fathers.
I froze, my heart thumping harder. Mullo had moved House Balfour to New York City after America won its independence.
My father claimed the other houses had grown tired of Mullo’s unethical uses of magic.
Which, considering how little the magical houses thought of ethics, was really saying something.
They’d threatened to form an alliance and go to war if Mullo didn’t leave Europe.
Which meant my great-grandfather was probably, at this very moment, somewhere in New York City.
I looked at the skyscrapers across the street. I was a full-blooded dragon—a creature my great-grandfather had sacrificed his fertility to destroy. If I showed up at House Balfour headquarters, he would probably kill me on the spot.
I’d prevent my own birth. Possibly my brother’s. Maybe my parents would never meet.
An ache formed between my eyes, which made me think of Albie.
And then I was crying—great, heaving sobs that shook my whole body. Tears poured down my cheeks, and I didn’t bother wiping them away.
I cried for Tavish and Albie. For the danger I’d put them in and the fear that I’d never see them again. For the mess I’d made of everything.
I cried until I had nothing left. Then I sat in silence, my face hot and my emotions wrung dry.
The waitress appeared with a glass of water and a stack of paper napkins. She set both on the table without a word, then walked away.
I blew my nose and wiped my face. Sniffing, I drained the glass, the water cool and soothing against my raw throat. My head cleared, as if the tears had wrenched something loose inside me. Resolve, maybe. Whatever it was, I seized it.
Tavish and Albie were my mates. Fate had matched me with them, and I wasn’t going to let anything—or any time—stand in my way.
I’d find them. I didn’t know how yet, but I would.
I pushed back my chair and stood. Inside the cafe, the waitress caught my eye. She nodded.
I nodded back.
Then I walked into the chaos of New York City, alone but no longer without purpose. I had a mission: find my mates and accept the bond.
And get us all home.