Chapter 72
CHASON HARLOW
There’s no time to be sick. Common illnesses are for people who don’t have access to healing spells and potions. This sickness is bonkers.
I grind the herbs in my muddler harder than necessary, but it gives me a sense of purpose. I’ve been taking the usual remedies for days and I’m getting worse.
There’s an unexplained pressure on my chest that isn’t fluid or a tumor. Did I ask Ash to scan me magically? Yuppers.
Medically, there’s nothing wrong, but my muscles ache and there’s a constant throbbing in my head. For a few hours at work, everything was normal, but now my thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.
Rafe will be here soon, and I gotta get in top witch-mode to help him. He’s stubborn and infuriating and kisses me as if I belong to him, and I hate it.
He’s leaving if there’s no evidence his sister has been here.
It should thrill me to get him out of my life but it hurts.
I don’t want him bound to me by duty, not by love.
Relationships are hard enough. Very few people stay in love as they grow old together.
It’s simpler to stay together. There’s no reason to believe I’m special enough to be loved until the day I die.
Magic is about balance and order in the universe, meaning there’s a price to pay for happiness. And love is out of my price range.
Adding the herbs to my water, I guzzle it and check that everything’s in place to scry. I debate moving the table so we can sit on the floor, but he knocks before I decide.
I take a few cleansing breaths and fold my fingers around the black tourmaline in my pocket before I see him.
It doesn’t help.
He metaphorically knocks me over as I open the door.
Two simultaneous reactions happen. There’s a magnetic pull toward him, tempting me to throw my arms around his neck, scale him, and inhale until I’m drunk on pheromones. What stops me is the negative energy consuming him. He’s a black hole obliterating things in his path.
I stare wordlessly, and a small smile creeps across his face, softening his eyebrows so he doesn’t look angry.
“Can I come in?” he asks, rocking uneasily on his heels.
I blink several times to get my brain back online and figure out a solution. That black energy isn’t coming inside.
“Meet me in the garden behind the house.” I reach to reassure him but pull my hand back. No skin-to-skin contact until he’s clear.
“We’re scrying outside?” His brow lifts in surprise.
I shake my head. “We need to get you ready. I promise it won’t hurt,” I say, and close the door in his face. He reduces me to a clueless newbie who can’t cast a spell.
Nervous he’ll knock again, I rush into my work area/dining room to find sage, lavender, a lighter, and more black tourmaline. I place all the items in my prized Tibetan singing bowl that my mother left me. It has power well beyond its bronze metal.
Remembering the temperature, I snag a couple of blankets as well. Rafe stands with his hands in his pockets, eyes scanning as if he’s searching for danger.
“This is a house of respite and peace. You won’t find any threats here that you don’t bring.
” It’s a small lie since he can handle Nyx, hiding under a bush, swishing her tail.
I motion with my arm to the firepit and chairs.
It’ll be simpler to do the cleansing ritual there.
I dump my stash and strategically place the tourmaline on the outside of the pit, forming a square.
“The black tourmaline will absorb negative energy and protect us against it.” I hold the sage, intending to light it, but Rafe’s phone rings.
“My alpha, I have to get it.” He stands to step away, but I halt him with my fingertips on his Henley-covered elbow. His heat seeps through the shirt, and I have a ridiculous image of myself rubbing against him.
I shake that thought loose. “Stay in the circle. If you want privacy, I’ll go inside.” I press the round tourmaline from my pocket into his hand.
His phone continues to ring as his gaze darts between me and the stone. His brown eyes radiate indecision, but he nods and guides me to sit in a chair. Bossy but polite. I like… nope, not going there.
Rafe hovers next to me, blocking the sun. “Hey, Wayne,” he answers his phone.
Wayne’s voice carries through the phone even though Rafe has it up to his ear. “I discovered some things. I needed to check them for myself before I told you. There isn’t an easy way to say this.”
Rafe’s body coils with tension, and his jaw locks. “Say it,” he orders with more authority than expected when speaking to his alpha.
“You should sit down for this,” Wayne asks more than he demands.
“I am,” Rafe lies. His knuckles are white from gripping the phone.
“I found the missing pages of your stepmom’s journal.” Wayne lowers his voice. “She wrote notes in sections across pages instead of down.”
“Get to the point,” Rafe snarls, baring his canines.
I light the sage and whisper an incantation. Between Wayne’s reluctant voice and Rafe’s pit of despair, we need all the magical help I can give.
“The words on the top of the page about your sister aren’t the same topic as the bottom of the page referring to Driftwood Pointe.” Wayne pauses and we brace for his next words. “I’m sorry, your sister is gone.”
Rafe hunches over as if he’s been punched in the gut. “What are you saying?”
“I personally found her remains. Your stepmom made a shrine for her.”
Rafe’s knees buckle, and he falls to the ground. “That can’t be,” he croaks.
“She thought she was protecting you from the truth. She didn’t want to break your spirit after so much loss,” Wayne comforts him.
Rafe covers his face with one hand. A surge of hopelessness rushes through me so powerfully my heart stops and my head swims, but it’s his emotion, not mine.
Every cell in me wants to fix this.
Wayne’s voice booms from the forgotten phone. “Come home, Rafe. Introduce your mate to the pack.”
What the actual wolf nonsense is that about? Rafe’s made it clear he’s not interested, and I’m not blindly believing a myth about fated mates. As if I’d bind myself to someone who doesn’t want me!
But that’s a problem for another day.
“That’s not happening,” Rafe growls, and part of me hopes he’s not going home.
“Why not?” Wayne roars.
“I’m not repeating my father’s mistake,” Rafe says, crushing my hope. He is a witch-ist.
“Do you know why your father was stripped of his pack leadership? It’s recorded, and I assumed someone told you. He lied and told me they were fated mates and conned me into sanctioning their marriage before I met her. He broke our trust, not her.”
Rafe’s face crumples in unbearable pain. “I didn’t know. All these years and no one told me.”
The phone’s in my hand and I say, “Hi, this is Chason. We spoke the other night. I’ll—”
“He needs his mate,” Wayne cuts me off. “Call me later with an update.”
I blow on the sage to speed the burn and sink down in front of Rafe. He’s bottling his emotions, and a darkness surrounds him. The Tibetan bowl is behind me, and I reach back to circle it with the rubber mallet. Crisp sound vibrates in the air, fighting against the negativity.
Once the bowl has played, the sound will linger, and I place my hand on Rafe’s knee. He pitches forward until his head is in my lap.
“I’m sorry.” His voice cracks. I rub soothing circles on his back, and then he breaks. His big body shudders with sobs, and I rock him through the pain.
He clutches my waist, and I cradle his head until he lifts it.
“I should go. I’m sorry I wasted your time,” he says, but doesn’t stand.
“Listen.” I use my no-nonsense nurse voice. “You’re staying until I do a proper cleansing and you’ve eaten something.” I wag my finger. “No arguing.”
“Yes, boss,” he agrees, attempting to smile. “I shouldn’t drive anyway. Thank you.”
I nod and swallow the lump in my throat.
The thought of him being gone forever steals my breath, and I gasp for air.
“Chason.” Rafe gathers me in his arms. “What’s wrong? How can I help?”
I nuzzle his chest, then step away, embarrassed. “I’m fine. Haven’t been myself the last few days, but I’m not sick,” I assure him.
“It’s my fault. Our bond is partially formed, and it’s painful when we’re separated,” Rafe says to the ground, hunching his shoulders.
“I’m not a vampire, sucking out your life force against your will.” My voice is stronger than I feel. “Fated mates seems archaic and a slap to free will, right?”
Rafe lifts his head and caresses my face. “The problem isn’t free will.”
The sharp angles of his jaw and forehead soften to where he looks downright sweet. I could live in this moment for an eternity.
Again, I’m the stupidest, stupid man who ever lived.
He doesn’t want me.
“Chilly outside or cozy inside?” I light the lavender and mutter another incantation to help clear his soul.
“Your house feels safe.”
“It is,” I confirm.