6. Gabriel
Chapter 6
Gabriel
“ N o one?” Gabriel’s stomach dropped.
Paxton shook his head. “The village was burned to ashes. We didn’t find any survivors. That’s not to say some didn’t escape, but we saw no trace of them if they did.”
Lifting his glass, Gabriel gulped down the last of his brandy then glanced over to the drink cart in the corner of the dining room. It was barely midday; he shouldn’t be drinking this much so early. But fuck did he need it.
He stood and rounded the dining table. The cart sat near the tall window that let in an abundance of sunshine to brighten the cerulean room. With its white accents and pale hickory wood used for the ornately carved table and chairs, not to mention the wide hearth at the center of the long wall, it was one of the lightest rooms in the house. Apart from the solarium and his study, which was currently occupied, this was his favorite spot in his home. It held many pleasant memories from his childhood. He could still picture his father sitting at the head of the table with a cigar, laughing as he pulled Gabriel’s very pregnant mother onto his lap to kiss her cheek and hold her close. Their love seemed so infinite at the time, like nothing could ever tear them apart.
Many of his people had lost someone in this never-ending fight with the witches. He knew too many who’d become orphans because of it. But his mother was not killed by the cruel sorcières. No, it was natural death brought on by complicated labor.
Gabriel could still hear her screams from that night nearly eighteen years ago. He could distinctly remember when she’d called him into the room, as if she knew she needed to say goodbye.
“Take care of each other,” his mother said through the tears, reaching for him. The doctor was telling her it was time, that the boy had to leave because she needed to push. His father stood beside the man and met Gabriel’s eyes. His gaze was filled with such sorrow.
Gabriel knew in that moment that it was his choice. He could leave and wait for news elsewhere in the house, or he could stay and potentially see his mother pass.
He chose to stay, climbing up onto the bed to lie beside her, holding her and whispering that everything would be all right—just like she did whenever he was hurt or sick. She kissed his head and thanked him before making him promise to look after his baby sister because their father might be too sad to do so for a while. Especially since it had only been two months since he lost his beta as well.
And then, the screaming started.
“Gabe,” Pax whispered, appearing beside him. He put a hand on Gabriel’s arm.
“Do you remember the night Rose was born?” Gabriel poured more brandy and drank it in an instant.
Paxton audibly sighed and grabbed some liquor for himself. “Of course.”
Gabriel had been eight, Paxton seven. Pax had already lost his own parents by then, and Gabriel’s took him in. They had been best friends for a few years, but that night bonded them in a different way. Losing parents did that.
“I can still see the blood soaking into the bed,” Gabriel said. That was what did it in the end. His mother had bled too much, and they hadn’t been able to stop it. That room had been cleaned out. No one used it now.
The only witch who might have been willing to help had already been locked away after being taken from them.
“But that horrific tragedy also gave us Rosalyn.” Pax shifted to lean against the wall.
Gabriel nodded in agreement. One of the worst nights of his life also gave him his favorite person in the world. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if he could see through it to the young witch in his room. The one who would now think she had lost everything too. It didn’t matter that he hated her people with every part of his soul; he wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone.
“I have to go tell her.” He turned toward his friend. “Unless… you’d like to deliver the news for me.”
Paxton let out an amused huff of air through his nose. “No, thanks. That’s all you.”
“I could order you to.”
Raising a brow, Pax waited. He knew Gabriel would never abuse his power like that. When Gabriel groaned and set his glass down to head to the door, Pax said, “I’m going to go check on Rose.”
“Can you try to get her outside?” Gabriel asked as they made their way through the swinging door to the foyer and then up the stairs. “She was feeling decent this morning, and I mentioned maybe going to the courtyard.”
“Of course.” Paxton patted him on the shoulder when they reached the second floor and paused before his door. “She needs fresh air.”
Gabriel only nodded as his friend continued toward the iron staircase. Taking a deep breath, he pushed into his study. He was surprised to find the door to the bedroom already open, though it seemed the witchling hadn’t come out of there. He wasn’t shocked to find Joel talking to her still. However, he did wonder where the twins had gone.
“You know that only La Déesse herself could stop my grandmother from destroying you when she finds out you kidnapped and tortured her granddaughter and heiress,” Brinley said.
The world around him came to a halt. It felt as if all of the air and warmth had been sucked out of the room. He stared at her, jaw dropped. He couldn’t help it.
She knew that much? So, all of her memories weren’t taken, then? What else did she know? What did she remember?
Brinley noticed his arrival and narrowed her blue eyes on him. Gone was the whimpering girl from last night when he’d brought her more pain tonic. She’d been sleeping fitfully, crying unconsciously. He had also delivered some stew, which she didn’t eat. He’d found the same full bowl this morning when he snuck in to get a change of clothes.
In her place was the stubborn beauty he’d first found fighting back in that cellar two nights ago. A stark reminder of the girl she’d once been.
Gabriel snapped his mouth shut, crossing his arms to hide his shaking hands. Joel looked surprised too, but he knew everything. Yet, he said as if he didn’t, “She’s the fucking heir, Gabe.”
He decided to play along, trusting his friend’s instincts. “You’re the princess?”
“And she hasn’t learned to use her magic yet.” Joel widened his eyes a fraction at him.
Brinley glared at Joel, as if he’d betrayed her trust. Gabriel couldn’t believe she’d opened up and was talking to Joel. A flare of jealousy made him grit his teeth.
Her attention returned to Gabriel. “No, I haven’t. I didn’t get a chance to start my training, what with being attacked during my birthday celebration.”
Clenching his fists, Gabriel reined in the overwhelming rage about to boil over. “You don’t have any magic?”
“Do you think I would still be here if I did?” she challenged.
He ignored the stab of pain her words brought. So, she knew who she was, but she didn’t know him? She truly didn’t remember?
Brinley sat up a little straighter, wincing at the movement, her brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, were you planning on using it for something? Did you spare and kidnap the wrong witch?” There was a slight hint of sardonic amusement in her voice. “Maybe you should consider that before destroying an entire village. Or is that too difficult for your little puppy brain to comprehend?”
Before he could even process his actions, he snarled and crossed the room. His fists hit the mattress on either side of her, his arms caging her in as he leaned down to say in her face, “I didn’t kill your people. That was not my pack. And I didn’t kidnap you; I saved your fucking life.”
“Gabriel,” Joel said in a cautious tone. He’d stood as Gabriel charged, and now he stepped closer. The man wouldn’t dare intervene, but his calm voice of reason caught Gabriel’s attention.
Gabriel realized how little distance was between him and Brinley. Their breath mingled, but he didn’t dare glance down at her lips, no matter how much he needed to.
Brinley didn’t look away either.
Since becoming the Crimson Pack alpha, people had averted their gazes from his most of the time. Even his closest friends struggled to keep direct eye contact with him. Brinley seemed to have no such trouble. In fact, she raised her chin in defiance, as if waiting for his temper to get more out of hand. Little did she know, he could never actually hurt her. Nor would he want to.
“You honestly expect me to believe you saved me?” she asked. “I’ve seen the destruction of the DeLoup my whole life. It’s because of you that I was even in that village instead of the castle. Your people killed my parents and then came for me when I was ten, forcing my grandmother to send me into hiding.”
Gabriel shook his head and straightened, trying not to let either of them see his grief. “Oh, bijou, there is so much you don’t know.”
“Like what?” she asked, and he caught a faint whiff of the pine soap she must have used from his bathing chamber.
He took a deliberate step back from her, needing the space. “Like the fact that I didn’t take the wrong witch at all. We’ve been searching for you for years.”
Her brow creased, but before she could ask questions, he continued.
There was so much he couldn’t say, but this… he could share this much. The curse that made his words choke off too often didn’t stop him from telling her, “Because you are the sole heiress, Brinley Evnar. The only daughter of Malal and Keir.”
“Yes, but what does?—”
“And you’re right; we did come for you when you were ten, and again when you were fifteen.” He moved closer and leaned forward once more, unable to stay away from her. “But not to kill you or kidnap you. We were seeking revenge on behalf of Keir and trying to rescue his daughter from the clutches of evil.”
Brinley slowly shook her head. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about? Why would you want revenge on behalf of a sorcerer?”
She didn’t know.
His chest ached as memories flooded him. He stared into her big blue eyes, grateful he could still speak. When the witch cast her spell on his pack, she’d been too emotional to be thorough. She hadn’t specified that he couldn’t tell anyone about Keir, only that he couldn’t talk about the curse plaguing those in Zareia or anything to do with breaking it.
“Because Keir wasn’t a sorcerer. He was DeLoup.” Gabriel bent down, bracing his hands on the bed as she shook her head again, this time in protest. “He was my father’s beta, his best friend… and my godfather.”