by Anise Rae
* * * *
Vincent drove them back to his house, quiet in his thoughts.
Bronte interrupted them. “What’s a death warrant?” A shiver passed through her at the ugly phrase.
Vincent looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “It authorizes an enforcer to execute a mage for extreme misuse of energy that has resulted in another mage’s death or death of their mage sense.” He recitation sounded as if he’d memorized it. “If someone claims grounds for a death warrant, they have to prove it at a hearing. It’s impossible to fake. No one could prove such a charge against you, that’s for sure. I’ve studied syphons for years, and I have the degree to prove it. I know their power doesn’t harm.”
“Are death warrants common knowledge among mages?” She slumped in her seat at his nod. “My parents will probably give it a try someday.”
“They’ll lose.” He pulled into the meadow and followed the smashed twin trails now lining his front yard. They hadn’t been there when she’d first arrived.
“Is there anything else I don’t know about?” It had been one surprise after another around here. She could do without more for the next three to five years.
He parked the truck and rubbed his face, looking almost as tired as she felt. “I know you want to devise your own plans, but there’s no avoiding the fact that you must be declared a mage. Soon.”
She shook her head. He caught her, cupping his hands around her face.
“Hiding can’t be part of your plan anymore. Not after the newspapers. There’s no other option. It will be alright. You have the protection of the most powerful family in the Republic.” He took a breath.
She recognized its type. “But…” She braced for his bad news with a grip around his wrists.
“Once you’re declared a mage, the Casteels can claim you as one of theirs—a Casteel mage belongs in Casteel Territory. They would have legal right to do whatever they wanted with you.”
“That’s bad.” Her shaky words puffed through the air. She searched for a silver lining. “But they’d need a death warrant to kill me?”
“Not exactly.”
Silver tarnished to black. Maybe staying under the wide, strong wing of the Rallises was for the best. Maybe she didn’t need freedom. The moment she thought it, her soul wilted. No, freedom was a necessity.
“Founding families are the exception to the law. They can deal with their own mages however they like. But they won’t get away trying to claim you. If they refuse to relinquish their claim, we’ll hold their medallion ransom until they agree.”
“I thought you didn’t want to do that. It’s against your principles.”
He stroked a finger down her cheek. “You’re worth violating my principles.” He got out of the truck and walked around to her side.
She sat motionless, cowed by this new set of hurdles to leap.
He opened her door. “Besides, it might not even be necessary.”
“Yeah, a judge could sign a death warrant.” Her knees fell out from under her as she got out of the car.
He caught her and held her against his body. “Not going to happen.”
“Anything else I should know about?”
“The body.” Vincent listed the next issue as if it was a minor problem. “The gyre has yet to flux down to lower energy levels. There’s an envoy from the High Council here who needs in there. Senate murders are Council business…if this is a murder. She’s demanding your help to retrieve the body. Apparently Masset told stories that somehow got to the Council’s ears.” He put his arm around her and escorted her up his porch steps.
“How can I help?”
“You syphon some of the gyre’s power. That’s why I could get in. I think it’s why Masset could get so close. The envoy wants you to escort her in. My mother says the woman is pushy. But you are not to help her until you’ve been declared a mage. A Rallis mage. The Council is not getting near you without that.”
She slumped against the wooden walls of his house.
“You don’t have to be involved in any of it. My parents, Edmund, the senator…they can handle it all.”
“No. I will be involved.” Adamant, she straightened from the wall. “I suppose if the envoy needs a syphon’s help, that can’t be a bad thing.” She pulled her eyebrows down. She had no desire to go find the body, but Casteel needed its medallion back. “Anything else?”
He zapped the lock. They walked in and she threw herself into the first chair at the large kitchen table and cradled her head in her arms. He stood beside her and ran his fingers through her hair. “I don’t think there is anything else. Claude is being transported to the basement, but that doesn’t involve you.”
She lifted her head. “I want to talk to him.”
“Out of the ques—”
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“We’ll discuss it after he arrives.”
She could save her arguments for then. She nodded to herself, an absent gesture that half put her to sleep. “I could deal with all of this.”
He crooked his eyebrow at her.
“Except that I’m just so tired.” She hated the whine in her voice. “But I don’t think I could sleep.”
“I can get you to sleep. Go get on the bed.” He held out his hand for hers.
She looked up at him from under her bangs. “Is this a ploy? I’m tired enough to fall for it, but I have really bad dungeon feet.”
“Go take a shower. Don’t get dressed afterwards.”
“I’m getting dressed, Vincent.” Into what, though? Her bag was in her car parked at the big house.
“Waste of time. Shower fast. Come to me naked. Get in bed.”
He commanded her like she was one of his men. She quirked a brow but obeyed, pivoting on her heel toward the bath. She went as fast as she could, lathering bubbles to rinse off the grime. Too bad death warrants and rumors in the tabloids couldn’t wash down the drain with it.
When she came out, Vincent sat on the bed, elbows on knees. He’d pulled all the blinds closed, but a line of soft morning light streamed in through the edges. He was still dressed in his black army gear, including boots. Bronte tugged her towel tighter.
“You look all business.” She leaned against the door, not venturing any further.
He shook his head. “No, this is all pleasure.” The words were low and rough. He patted the mattress next to him. “Come sit.” She pushed away from the door and padded silently to the bed.
“What are you going to do? I’m a little nervous.” She sat next to him. His greater weight pulled the mattress down. Her hip tilted into his. She gave him a quick glance with her admission, then dropped her gaze to the floor. Their feet were side by side. Her toes looked very squishable next to his big boots.
“No reason to be nervous.” He took the thick mass of her wet hair into his hands, threading his fingers through it. Her syphon power gobbled up his energy as he used his mage sense to remove the water. “I know exactly how our energy works together.”
“How could you know in such a short time?” She silently calculated the amount of time they’d been together, but it reminded her of the doomed syphon in his dissertation. She quit adding. She didn’t want to think about that right now.
“Instinct. I can’t resist your warmth. I’m solid ice, cold and sharp. You melt all my rough spots with your pull, your strength. I feel like you have a place inside you that’s only for me.”
She leaned in, buried her face in his neck. His honesty tugged at her heart, almost too intense to face.
“You are the most important thing in my life. I will defend this from anyone, from anything.” He pulled away, cupping her cheeks and looking her in the eyes. “I want to be your safe place. Like you are for me. I want to be worthy of you.”
She sucked in a breath. He was worthy. That had never been in question. She opened her mouth to tell him, but yawned instead. She covered it with her hand and a blushing apology.
He smiled. “I might fall a
sleep too.” He bent over and untied his boots, lining them up under his bed. “Although not as deeply as I did the last time.”
She didn’t miss the warning. “Yeah.” She looked away. “You were pretty tired.”
“That won’t happen again. Take off the towel.”
The sun went behind the clouds. The light in the room dimmed, but the intimacy blossomed. He reached to the side to open the bed’s covers. He held them, waiting.
Bronte searched deep into herself for a last bit of boldness. She stood. The towel fell to the floor with a muffled thump. From his seat on the bed, he was eye level with her nipples. They hardened with his glance.
He closed his eyes. “Get in.” He stood so she could crawl to the far side. “Lay on your stomach or your side. Face the wall.”
“Why?”
“Because if I keeping looking at your breasts, this is never going to work.” He tucked the blankets around her.
“Have you done this before?”
He gave a low laugh. “No, Bronte. I have not done this before.” The bed moved as he got in next to her. His weight held down the covers as he stayed on top of them. She was trapped between the wall and him. “Relax.”
She tried, letting her body sink into his.
He helped, wrapping an arm around her and securing her against him. “I’m going to fill you up with slow vibes.” His voice was as sleepy as the energy her syphon power was soaking up.
She had no control over it, never had, never would. Vincent could control her power better than she could. She focused on the sensation. The whole universe seemed to decelerate with her. Though the energy drifted slowly, she was full with it. Her eyes closed, but only for a moment as a thought came to her. “Don’t do this to me without my permission.”
“Never. Now be quiet. I have to concentrate.”
“How are you doing this?” Her mind evened out, her muscles relaxing.
“I’m forcing my energy to lose its focus. It’s kind of like when your eyes lose focus. Hard to do on command. And hard to hold it there.”
“So why did I have to be naked?”
“That was just a bonus for me.”
She laughed as her eyes closed.
* * * *
Her breath evened. Joule by joule he let his energy spring back to its normal state, careful not to pull her from sleep. Her syphon power continued to draw his vibes without a hint of disturbance. He relaxed, tipping his head down, burying his nose in her hair. She’d used his shampoo again. He took a perverse pleasure in his scent mixing with hers.
He hadn’t told her everything. He hadn’t told her he needed to return to work, though he’d be by her side for the hearing at noon. He hadn’t wanted to admit to her that his leave was up. He wasn’t sure when he’d be back. But he’d come home to her.
He loved the sound of that. Closing his eyes, he sent up a silent prayer of thanks.
Gregor and Dane would be here soon. He hadn’t told her that either. She wouldn’t like it. But there was nothing she could say or do to change his mind.
He took another breath of her scent. Leaving her with two guards was not enough. He wanted some kind of claim on her…a promise that he’d be back for her, something to hold her to him.
Primitive of him. She did that to him.
A way existed, an old way—an energy weave. No one did it nowadays. The tradition of the weave had fallen off with the colonization of this new land. It was a mark of two mages’ power. They merged their energies together in one small place on their skin. Since Bronte had no power to offer him, there would be no blending of their energies. It would be his energy alone, a vibrating tattoo of his vibes.
There were mages who still respected the tradition. Maybe it would make some people think twice before they touched her. Maybe it would keep her a bit safer.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He had yet to recover from her latest escape. His gut still clamored for revenge, still hadn’t forgiven anyone for their part in it—not Wilen, not Allison, not Gregor or Dane, though the two would excel at their task of guarding her all the more for it.
While he was gone, they’d ensure no one took her from him. And he’d ensure she carried his energy.
He tucked in closer to her, his nose buried in her hair along the nape of her neck. With his hand on her arm, he closed his eyes and focused his power to the tips of his fingers. With a deep breath, he pulled her scent into him. The delicate hairs on her nape stirred as he exhaled and let his power flow over her in a small circle. He felt it unite—end melding with beginning, sustained energy vibrating in an endless loop. He lifted his fingertips from her arm, careful to keep his vibes even so he didn’t disturb her sleep.
He loved her. She held his heart. Now she held his power, both within her syphon and on the outside. A coil of tension unwound inside him.
He lifted his head to look at her arm, squinting closer. Her skin was blank, unblemished. A pressure in his chest squeezed as if his heart had taken a punch. His weave had not worked.
15
She woke up alone. In that moment she understood how he’d felt when she’d snuck away—lost, lonely, afraid. He’d held her for a while as she’d dreamed, anchoring her with his presence. Without him, she slipped her moorings of hope and possibility. She needed them back. What left her so melancholy?
She rolled to the bed’s edge and peered at the floor. His boots were gone, but her syphon hummed with his power. He was still here, but his energy weighed heavy and sorrowful. That was the source of her sadness.
Just then he appeared in the bedroom doorway. His grim expression matched his black uniform. He’d added a variety of black straps and holsters along his chest, his left arm, and around one thigh. They all held weapons. She recognized some of them—guns, at least one knife, an energy blaster. He painted a ferocious image standing in the doorway like that.
“You’re leaving? What happened?” The words were scratchy with sleep.
“I was trying to be quiet so you would rest.” Even now his voice stayed soft. He stared, blue eyes studying her, but she couldn’t quite see beneath that expression.
She swung her legs to the floor, sheet clutched to her chest. “What’s going on?”
“I have to go to work. Earlier than I thought. There’s been another attack.”
Those words brought down the curtain she’d refused to look behind. This was his life.
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Badly?”
He nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to ask if anyone was dead. Had her music played a role in this? A wave of guilt washed over her…because worry for the victims wasn’t her first concern.
Her first thought had been that he was leaving her. Her second thought: she really would have to stand on her own. Despite all her insistence that she make her own decisions, the small patch of ground she stood on no longer seemed solid. The life she’d built was gone. No matter what happened to her now, she would never go back to Chattanooga. The roads before her were so steep it was easier to avert her eyes.
In her mind, she’d always thought of him as being here—an unrealistic image. He battled bad guys who had bombs. These bad guys had killed over three hundred people and injured many more.
“Now the world’s best deflector mage flies off to the rescue. Not an easy job to do.”
He tilted his head. “Easier with you.” He looked away. “This is the second time those bastards have targeted Rallis territory.” His nose flared as he spoke, and a cord of muscle clenched in his jawline. The tight control on his anger was evident. She wondered to whom he’d told his problems and concerns before she showed up. Who listened to him talk about his day?
She pulled the sheet free of the bedding and wrapped it around herself as she stood. The room was too cool for a mere sheet. She missed his warmth. “I thought you worked before and during the attacks. What do you have to do after them? If they’ve already gone off, what power is there to deflect?”
The rhythmic drum of a helicopter sounded in the air. She’d only heard them a few times in her life.
“I don’t know when I’ll be back. I can’t be at the hearing. And I might not be here when you go into the gyre with the Council’s envoy.” He leaned his hands high against the top of the doorframe. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll be alright.” If he could go fight a bunch of bad guys, she could fight her parents.
One half of his mouth pulled up. He gave a soft, fast laugh but it was coated in sadness. He walked over to her. Two steps and his boots nearly touched her toes. His fingertips rested on her arms. “I know. You’re very brave. Sometimes too brave. There’s nothing you have to do at the hearing. You just have to be present. Edmund and Mother have it all handled. They’ll do all the talking. I would have been there for support. But the gyre…”
“I’ll be alright,” she repeated. “I’ve already been in once with no problems.” She thought about Masset. “Or almost no problems.”
He closed his eyes and groaned. He was remembering Masset, too.
She traced a line down his chest in between straps and weapons. The helicopter sounded like it was landing on the roof. “Is that your ride?” She looked up at him through her bangs.
“Yes.” He slid his hands to her cheeks and bent his head to brush his lips against hers. Tingles tightened over her skin and over her heart. She leaned forward into his warmth, into the press of his mouth…almost closing the gap between them but not quite. Those weapons were intimidating. With her sheet secured, she draped her hands over his shoulders. He was strong and hard beneath her hands.
This wasn’t a kiss to tumble them into bed. No, this was a kiss to say goodbye.
He pulled back and his fingers slid down to her shoulders, then squeezed gently. “Gregor and Dane are outside the house. They will stay with you until I get back.” The helicopter’s rhythm and sound changed, as if the drummer had switched drums.