Chapter 16 The Cost of Distraction
THE COST OF DISTRACTION
brANDON
Brandon stood in the doorway of Armand's study, reluctant to leave. The ancient vampire looked up from the text he was reading, one from Brandon’s personal stash, his expression sympathetic.
“She's asleep,” Armand said quietly.
“She’s okay, though?”
“Ana made sure she had everything she needed.”
Brandon's chest tightened. He’d been hoping she might want to speak with him after Armand had filled her in, but he understood why she hadn’t. He was one of the reasons her world had been tilted on its axis.
“I should go,” Brandon said.
“A wise choice, if not the most desired.” Armand set down his book.
“I promised her space,” he said, willing his feet to move.
Armand studied him for a long moment. “For what it's worth, I believe she will come to you. Fate knows what it’s doing. But she needs time to process, and she will be safe here.”
“I know.” Brandon turned to leave, then paused. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Of course.”
Several minutes later, Brandon was in his car, driving away from the manse, feeling like he’d left part of himself behind.
The pre-dawn air was cool and still, that last quiet hour before the nocturnals retired and the rest of the world awoke.
Mythic's streets were empty, which was good because his vision was blurry, his hands were shaky, and mind was occupied with other things—most importantly, what he was going to say when Muriel finally faced him.
He’d already apologized. Explained why he hadn’t told her right out of the gate.
I love you was true, but would she believe it? Or would she still think the bond was manipulating both of them?
As she slept, their connection settled into something steadier now that she wasn't actively angry. Still restless, but weary. Waiting.
The low fuel light blinked on the dash. He groaned. He'd been running on adrenaline and guilt for hours, and now his vehicle was reminding him of one more ball he’d dropped.
Brandon pulled into Mythic’s only service station. Zed’s was dark except for the lights he had on the pumps, which he kept on twenty-four/seven for the late night crowd. Nobody in their right mind would steal from the burly bear shifter.
The last thing Brandon felt like doing was pumping gas, but if he filled up now, he’d be ready to go if—no, not if, when—Muriel was ready to talk to him.
Physically, mentally, and magically exhausted, he hauled himself out of the car. He was just reaching for the nozzle when his instincts went on high alert.
Brandon spun and saw the blacked-out SUV pulling in behind him. Halogen headlights flared to life, instantly blinding him. Doors opened. The heavy tread of multiple booted feet moved swiftly toward him.
As he willed power into his hands, something slammed into his back. Not a physical blow—a sorcerous one. Nullification magic that short circuited his own.
He staggered forward, trying to regroup, but they were already on him. Three men materialized from the shadows, moving with the coordinated efficiency of trained hunters.
Collectors.
Brandon's magic flared, but the nullification field was already spreading, dampening his access. He managed to throw one operative back with a concussive blast, but it cost him. His reserves were too low, his focus too scattered.
A fourth man stepped from behind the garage. Brandon felt the metallic tang of binding magic a second before suppressant cuffs locked around his wrists.
“Got him,” the newcomer said, satisfaction thick in his voice.
Brandon fought anyway, using physical force since his magic had been shackled. He got in one good hit before someone grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. The cuffs burned against his skin, draining what little power he had left.
“No one else in the car, boss,” someone said.
“That’s all right. We’ve got the bait.”
Brandon's blood ran cold. They knew about Muriel, because of course they did. The captured Collector being held in Vlane’s dungeon was a scout. The rest had been watching, waiting for an opportunity.
And he'd walked right into it because he was too busy drowning in guilt to pay attention to his surroundings.
“Bring him.” The leader stepped forward, a tall man with a scarred face and cold eyes. He grabbed Brandon's chin, forcing his head up. “Let's see what we've—”
He stopped. Stared.
Brandon saw the exact moment recognition dawned.
“No,” the man breathed. “No fucking way.” He pulled out his phone, thumbed to an image, held it up next to Brandon's face. “Those eyes. Look at his eyes.”
The other operatives crowded closer.
“Is that—?”
“It is.” The leader's grin was vicious. “Merlin's last descendant. The Consilium has had a standing bounty on this bloodline for six hundred years. And he’s bonded to the witch.”
Brandon's stomach dropped.
“Holy shit,” one of the others whispered. “We hit the jackpot. The keeper's mate AND Myrddin's heir?”
“This is our retirement score, boys.” The leader's hand tightened on Brandon's face. “The Consilium will pay double. Maybe triple.”
Brandon stopped fighting. Not because he'd given up, but because terrible clarity had settled into place.
If they took him, they'd use him to get to Muriel.
Angry or not, hurt or not, she'd try to save him because of the bond. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself.
They'd take her. Take the Codex. Drain her magic until there was nothing left.
Unless.
Brandon reached for the bond with the last threads of conscious magic he had. Not to call for help. Not to warn her.
To hide.
The cloaking spell was delicate, designed for exactly this—to shield the bond from detection, to keep a mate from feeling pain or danger. It took everything he had left, but he wrapped it around his side of the connection.
The warmth that had been a constant presence went dark.
It was the only way to protect her.
“What the hell is he doing?” one of the operatives asked.
“Doesn't matter. He's suppressed.” The leader lifted his nose and sniffed, then gestured sharply. “Move. We need to be out of here before the bears rise.”
Brandon felt hands dragging him backward. His vision was already graying at the edges, the combination of exhaustion, suppression, and the cloaking spell dragging him under.
His last conscious thought was of Muriel's face, smiling with joy when her magic first touched his. That was the image he’d hold on to.
Then darkness took him.