by Patti Larsen
Yet.
“I take it your people had a breakthrough in their little moral dilemma to let me deal with their mess.” Okay, my mess, too. But still. They were sorcerers, supposed to be the good guys, if Gram and Demetrius were to be believed. And I'd been acting alone for so long, without support, it was hard to just let go of my animosity.
“I convinced them to act,” Piers said. “On your behalf. And on ours.” He sighed, shrugged. “My people fear we are too weak to stand against our dark brothers. But your arrival, the rise of the maji and the coming of the prophecy, has finally convinced them we can't be complacent.” He took my cold hands in his and warmed them. How was it he was so very warm and I was slowly turning into a Sydscicle?
“You're the reason we're here,” he said, leaning over me, pale eyes intense. “The catalyst. But if we are to act as a people, it must ultimately be for our own good. So I thank you for giving us the impetus to take a stand where once we hid in shadow.”
Well. If nothing else, he talked pretty. Sure did.
The truck slowed, gears grinding as we turned from the forest path onto a narrow lane. Snow began to fall, shining in the glaring headlights behind us as the engine roared before we slid to a halt. Piers almost ended up in my lap even while Raoul's balance wasn't affected.
Made me think of Charlotte. Miss her all the more.
“There are further answers waiting for you inside.” Piers stood as the truck went quiet, the sound of doors opening and slamming closed following as the other two vehicles halted around us. He crouched under the short canopy of the tarp covering the back of the truck. His offered hand beckoned, small smile curving his mouth, blonde hair spilling over the dark fabric of his coat, the scent of him stronger now for some reason. My demon breathed it in and, for the first time since we met him, hummed happily. A familiar sound I’d only ever heard her hum with one other person.
Oh no, she did not.
She lifted my hand for me, reaching for him, the warmth of the memory of his skin on mine enticing if only because I was freezing.
Yeah, that was it. I was just cold and he wasn't.
Syd. Seriously.
Before my demon could reconnect our grip, I stood on my own, pushing past Piers, slipping out the back and into the snow. I was immediately doused in a fall of soft flakes, reminding me of Harvard and what I’d left behind only a few short hours ago.
The weekend seemed like it was years away.
And Liam.
Oh dear.
Time to focus on Charlotte and get my ass home before I could add another complication to my list of hot guys I really needed to avoid.
***
Chapter Sixteen
The large, stone house looked like someone's ancestral farm, just this side of an estate, really, outbuildings and fences leading off into the darkness. A single light burned over the red-painted front door. I followed Piers as he led the way, others closing in around me from the other two vehicles. The faces of the sorcerers Piers brought with him were young, two girls, two guys, though the werewolves were all older and few in number, considering the horde I'd met at Yure's palace.
Outnumbered and outgunned? Story of my life.
The warm interior hit me like a blow, hot air almost as big a shock to my system as the drug they'd used to subdue me. The place smelled of wood smoke and meat, my stomach growling at the latter.
Oppressive dark-paneled walls pushed down on me as I walked the narrow hall, a few doors on either side closed to view. My hands clenched in my pockets as we turned through the last doorway at the end of the corridor and into a large study.
A massive fire blazed in a gaping fireplace on the far wall, pumping heat into the air. I hated to judge, but there was a distinct scent of wet dog fur mixed with the smoke and bite of pipe tobacco.
But it wasn't the smell I cared about. A huge man stood, his back to me, hands clasped behind him, staring down into the flames rising from the huge logs burning steadily in the hearth. Shaggy silver hair glinted in the light as Raoul stepped past me and went to him. I glanced around the room, noting the werewolves, both male and female, gathered to watch me with glowing eyes, only two small lamps with solid flames and the fire itself for illumination.
Younger weres, mixed with older, all sharing similar features. Charlotte’s family, I guessed. I could see her eyes in some of the women, though their sad, weary faces were nothing like the Charlotte I held firmly in my mind.
I was not going to think about the weregirl I’d just seen.
Not when I planned to get the old Charlotte back.
The large man bent his body sideways as Raoul, a head shorter, leaned in. One of his hands settled on the older were's shoulder, lips near his ear, an air of comfortable familiarity between them. Beads of sweat popped out on my upper lip as the heat melted the snow in my hair, pulling the strength from me. My demon loved it, but such a switch in temperature was making me feel woozy.
The big were nodded to Raoul, turned to grip his face in his hands, kiss both cheeks before facing me. More glowing wolf eyes as he strode toward me, massive hands reaching for mine, weathered face kind behind a thick silver beard and mustache.
“Forgive us,” he said in almost perfect English, accented British, only a hint of his Ukrainian heritage behind his words. “This was the only way.”
I could see Charlotte in his features, way more than her father. “You could have asked.”
He nodded. “And yet, had we, you would have been forced to lie about your meeting with us. This way, if Margaret Applegate asks you if you were kidnapped, she will have no recourse but to believe you.”
Clever. Still a sucky way to try to make a friend. But I'd let it pass.
“I am Oleksander Moreau,” he said in his gravelly bass voice, pressing one hand to his wide chest. No matter the deep wrinkles on his face, the thick hair on his head as silver as his beard, I had no doubt age had done nothing to sap his strength. I felt it emanating from him, the power, the way his big hand squeezed mine with a gentle touch. So much crushing power behind it I knew even with magic I'd be hard-pressed to keep my bones intact if he decided to squeeze. “Sharlotta—ah forgive me, Charlotte,” his accent bit off her Americanized name abruptly, “is my granddaughter.”
“Sydlynn Hayle.” I shrugged. “She's my friend.”
His eyes flared once before settling into the same blue as Charlotte's. “From what I understand,” he said, “we have you to thank for her survival.”
“Trust me,” I said, feeling myself relax at the pinched expression on his face, the way his concern rolled over me, “I was only returning the favor.”
His smile shone like a beacon. “Our Sharlotta has a fire inside her I wish I could capture and share with all of our people.” He led me further into the room, guided me to a wide-backed seat with a deep cushion, helping me personally with my coat. The wool shed, I felt instantly better, the room hot enough even my t-shirt and jeans were almost too much. “We are very proud of her.”
Choke. I blinked a couple of times to still the sting in my eyes. “Ditto.”
Oleksander sat himself, tree-trunk thighs crushing the cushion beneath him, forearms almost as wide as his hands resting on the faded velvet. His blue eyes never left me as he clutched the ends of the armrests with his giant fingers. “You know by now who she is to our people.”
I nodded, glanced at Raoul. “I take it you're her maternal grandfather?”
“I am,” he said. “Charlotte chose to take another surname, Girard, when she was forced into servitude with the Dumonts. She didn't want the Moreau family name sullied by their evil.” He bowed his head, firelight creating shadows across the grooved wrinkles on his cheek. Raoul twitched, head ducking as Oleksander went on. “She is the best and bravest of us. I could not ask for a more noble grandchild.”
“Where is Charlotte's mother?” He opened the door to personal, and I took it. All the questions I'd ever had about my werefriend came rushing to the surface. Whi
le Charlotte might not have been willing to spill her guts, Oleksander didn't seem to have the same reserve. I tried not to feel badly she probably would have hated the fact he was telling me so much she’d managed to keep secret.
But on the other hand, sucked to be her.
“Lost to us,” he said, pain in his voice. “Olena died defending our family from the Czar. Our dear Charlotte and her brother, Danilo, witnessed their mother's death at his hands, still defiant and fighting, giving the children enough time to flee. According to Danilo, he had to drag Charlotte away.” He smiled sadly, moisture glistening in his eyes. “Even at the tender age of seven, she was a warrior at heart.”
Okay, damn it, how could I hold back my own tears? I did, barely, jaw working as I fought to keep my throat from closing.
“What is she doing back here?” I wanted to choke her all of a sudden. “Why did she put herself in a position where she could be captured?” She was smarter than that, or, at least, I thought she was.
And why the hell didn't she come to me for help?
“She was lured into returning,” Raoul spoke up, grief and guilt in his voice, his accent much heavier than Oleksander's. “And it's my fault she's now captive.”
The old were raised one hand, shaking his head. “Not true,” Oleksander said. “We will not blame our people for honor bred into us since our conception. We will, instead, focus our fury at those who made us and continue to try to use us for their gain.”
I liked him even more than I had when we first met. “She just left.” Misery rose in my heart, made it even harder not to cry. I felt a single tear escape, swiped at it quickly. “I would have helped her if she'd just come to me.”
Oleksander leaned forward, patted my knee with a sad smile. “Pride is our greatest weakness,” he said. “She would never have asked for your aid.”
“The Czar knew about you,” Raoul said, resentment and anger replacing his regret. “About your bond.”
“He did, indeed.” Oleksander sat back, elbows on the armrests as he steepled his hands before him. “He has been trying for centuries to break our spirit, Sydlynn. But our family has stood firm against him, despite our forced servitude.”
“You're free now.” I looked around me at the gathered werewolves, felt their sadness squeeze me tight.
“Not so.” Oleksander sighed, a gusty sound over the crackling of the fire. “Though he owns our souls, he has never broken our spirits like those of our lesser brothers and sisters.” Full of himself much? The old werewolf pursed his lips, mustache quivering. “Who are we to understand the mind of a madman? We are well aware he could crush us at any moment.” Okay, so not as arrogant as I thought. I cut him some slack as he went on. “I suppose it is a tactic he employs to control the rest of our kind. Knowing we have some freedoms keeps the others in check.” Oleksander shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the admission of his own weakness. “The Czar has simply allowed us to live apart, giving the remainder of our people false hope we may someday rise up against him. Though, at least, he does not dare kill us, at risk of creating martyrs.”
“Or whispers of an heir's survival,” Raoul said. “Such as those of the Romanov's when he had them slain.”
“We do what we can,” Oleksander said, “but we are still his slaves. And when he calls, we must obey.”
I prodded my pain like an aching tooth. “So you all knew about the bond, too, I take it.”
Oleksander dropped his hands, solid thuds vibrating his chair. “We did,” he said. “We’ve been watching her. When she took her father’s place,” not a whisper of judgment, though the other werewolves shifted uneasily and Raoul’s head hung in shame, “we were proud to know our favorite child was bonded to such a powerful personage as yourself.” Oleksander’s smile made my chest ache in guilt. “We had thought her safe with you. It was my hope she would remain in America as your wereguard and not be drawn back into our family curse. The Czar would not be able to touch her, not without invoking your wrath. At least one of us, the best of us, would be safe.”
I coughed softly to loosen the regret holding my throat in spasm. “I had no idea,” I said. “When she almost died, I didn’t know the bond was broken.”
“Nor did we,” he said. “There is no way of knowing. But Charlotte knew.” He paused before going on. “She telephoned me several months after it happened, furious, terrified. Told me what had happened. She was distraught. I begged her to talk to you, for by then your reputation had preceded you, your own honor as powerful as ours, I believed.” He continued to smile. “Still believe. But she refused.”
Idiot weregirl. When I finally rescued her, she’d better look the hell out.
“Without the bond to hold her,” Oleksander said, “when the Czar called, Charlotte had no choice.”
***
Chapter Seventeen
Quiet settled over the room, the air so thick with oppression my chest felt tight.
“My friend, Galleytrot, was able to free Raoul.” I met the werewolf's eyes. “And Charlotte and some of her friends. I know he can help the rest of you.”
Oleksander nodded, sitting forward again, hunger flaring in the wolf that rose to his face for a moment. A grizzled muzzle and fiery eyes transformed him from a man to a were and back again. “He did, you are correct. But the bond he destroyed was the one to the Dumont family. We are still created from the sorcerers, and once the Czar had possession of Raoul and the others again, he was able to reestablish his hold.”
“Is it like the bond?” I really had no freaking clue. But if I could free them all permanently, I would.
“No,” Oleksander said. “The bond is something entirely different. Done on purpose, with purpose, by the werewolf to one he or she chooses to protect out of love or duty.” He growled softly under his breath in Ukrainian before going on. “The hold Yure Danko has over us, the Black Souls, comes from our very creation.”
There has to be a way. I ducked inside, addressed the girls.
Agreed, my vampire sent. But it might require maji power, Sydlynn. Power you don't have access to right now.
To hell with Applegate. My demon's rage bit through the conversation in a flare of flame. These people have suffered long enough with this asshat.
Shaylee sighed. It's possible. But I believe we will need Galleytrot's guidance to tell us what he did, exactly.
Oleksander must have known I was gone from him because one hand gently touched mine, regaining my attention. “The Czar has done everything he can to break us over the years, from public beatings to selling us to a certain witch family to prove our weakness.” The Dumonts. Right. They had to have been in league with Yure or, at least, knew him well enough he understood their twisted coven would be the perfect choice. “But my grandson, Danilo, managed to escape. Pushed past the boundaries the Czar has allowed us to live inside.” Pride shone in his eyes, sadness in his voice. “He had been working with other witches, searching for help. He even went to the Steam Union,” Oleksander glanced at Piers, “and brought us a message of hope.”
“Danilo was my friend,” Piers said, voice soft, thick.
Was. “The Czar killed him.” The only explanation for their sudden grief.
Oleksander's face twisted, one hand fisting in front of his mouth as he turned his head away a moment. “Shortly after Charlotte's near death, her brother was murdered.”
“Did she know?” My heart skipped, clenched. I thought of Meira and what I would do if someone hurt her. Rage and grief bubbled for Charlotte as Raoul stared into the fire, face lit orange as he answered my question.
“She did,” he said. “When she appealed to me for help about her bond with you, I was forced to tell her.”
How had she stayed with me for so long, not told me, knowing her own brother was dead at the hands of her enemy…? And yet, the weird behavior I though tied to the loss of our bond, the way she was always so short with me, how she acted when I found out I was supposed to marry by twenty-one. All of it f
it together like a sick and tragic puzzle. And now I knew, I thought back, realized just how unhappy she was, how tense, withdrawn even more than I was used to. How angry.
Not at me.
Oh, Charlotte.
I wept then, unable to hold in my tears, hands over my mouth to keep control of my sobs. Oleksander's big hand squeezed my knee again as I pulled myself under control.
Yure Danko was a dead man.
“With Danilo's loss,” Oleksander said, voice thick, “Charlotte became the prime focus of the Czar's attention. I am old.” He shook his head. “And while I am the leading member of our family, it is Charlotte who represents the future of our people.” The whole room sighed as the werewolves gathered shifted as one, exhaling their thin hope. “When the Czar looked for Charlotte and found she bonded to you, he became enraged. It is his intention to marry her, his final act of degradation. To turn her not only into his slave, but his forced bride, to finally crush the last of our family pride into dust with her wedded enslavement. I shudder to consider what abominations she might bear him.”
“Charlotte would not allow that to happen,” Raoul said. “She would end her own life, first.”
Holy. Crap. “No one is ending anything,” I snarled at her father. “And Charlotte is not, under any circumstances, marrying that nasty piece of work.” I fixed Oleksander with a scowl. “I promise you that.”
He bobbed a nod, wiping at his own wet cheeks. “I knew she had a faithful friend in you, Sydlynn,” he said. “I had to believe it.”
Yeah, he'd better.
The whole Yure Danko was a dead man? Times that by a million and throw in some creative demon torture and a Sidhe earth stomping while he burned forever in the white flames of vampire fury.
“The Czar sent Charlotte Danilo's bones,” Oleksander said. I shuddered. Witch bones were sacred, the last connection to their magic, their echoes. Were werewolf remains the same? “To taunt her. Claimed he had Raoul in his clutches.”