Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
“ I ’ll talk to her tonight,” I tell Bram, though I have no idea what I’ll say. “I’ll be waiting for her when she gets home. Until then, I should visit my brother.”
“I can’t spare any of the warriors to transport you, but I can send my sister.”
“Sabelle’s company is always a delight.”
Bram snorts. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t live with the minx.”
We ring off, and I wait. Sure enough, within moments Sabelle walks into the pub. Every male head turns. Jaws drop. One man even rises to his feet, looking as if he’s in a trance. She holds up a hand, and he wanders back to his stool instantly, looking confused.
“Do you get that reaction from men everywhere you go?”
She shrugs. “It’s my grandmother’s siren blood, not me. I could be the ugliest hag in creation, and men would still respond that way.”
But she isn’t. Far from it. Sabelle is truly stunning. Wars have been started over faces half so lovely. Centerfolds would kill for her body. The first time I saw her standing in the middle of my living room in Texas, explaining that my brother was suffering, I had to force myself to focus on her words, not my shock at her utter beauty.
But I quickly learned that she isn’t just beautiful on the outside. I genuinely like her. I admire her, even. But I don’t want her.
In fact, now that I’ve met Sydney, I can’t think of anyone else.
“If Bram hasn’t passed the message to you, thank you for trying to help Lucan.”
“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.
A growl sounds from the bed. Cautiously, I force myself to step into the dark bedroom. There, Lucan lies still and chained, naked except for a pair of white briefs. I stare in horror at his gaunt cheeks and pallid complexion.
In the past few days, my brother has deteriorated far beyond what I imagined.
Swallowing my horror, I vow that when I see Sydney again, I’ll focus on nothing but my mission. Screw whatever I’m feeling for her. My first priority must be to find Anka and make Lucan whole.
An adjoining door opens to my right, and Sabelle exits the bathroom in a cloud of humid, perfumed air. She wears a simple white dressing gown, damp hair pinned to the top of her head, water droplets still clinging to her golden skin. Determination stamps her regal features as she strides to a chair beside the bed. When she glances my way and sees me staring at Lucan, regret softens her face.
“Mate mourning isn’t always this way.”
Her whisper is like a blade to my chest. She means to be comforting, reassuring. Instead, her words only anger me more.
“Caden,” Sabelle tries again. “His bond with Anka was so true and deep. He’s hurting now, but he had over a century of joy with a woman he loved. Any of us should be half so lucky.”
“To be reduced to an animal? You would feel lucky to endure this?”
“Mate mourning for a witch works differently. Wizards undergo a period of intense…adjustment. A female suddenly alone is often compelled to seek out another male for comfort, protection, and energy. She doesn’t remember her former mate, but she experiences a sense of loss. She pines. Just not in this way.” Sabelle gestures to my brother.
Meaning that Anka could be anywhere, her memory of Lucan completely gone, and shagging someone else. If the mate mourning doesn’t finish Lucan off, that knowledge might.
Sabelle places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I know you find this unpleasant?—”
“Horrific,” I correct. “He’s a lunatic, and he’s a burden to you. Will he ever again be himself?”