The Bond
Page 16
He paused for several seconds, his eyes shiny and distant, and the entire lawn was quiet, weighted with compassion and sorrow.
Grant eventually took a drink and cleared his throat. “I don't know why Agro left me alive. I've often wished he hadn't, but he seemed to forget about me altogether. He was pissed he lost his mark and left as soon as her heart stopped beating, screaming for the others to follow, so they did, leaving me bound, beaten and sobbing like a baby as I stared into empty blue eyes. Since then, I've had nightly dreams about killing Agro, and I've waited thirty-two years for the chance to do it right, for the day others like me were ready to stand up and bring the bastard down.”
There were several teary eyes in the group, and Layla quietly cried into Quin's neck, her body vibrating with soft sobs.
Grant looked over, noticing her distress for the first time, and his eyebrows drew together as he glanced at Quin. “Is she okay?”
“No,” Quin answered, his jaw achingly tight. “She's sad for you.”
Grant tilted his head to the side. Then he sighed and looked away. “Well she better prepare herself, because Dallas' story is no walk in the park.”
Quin burrowed his face through Layla's hair and whispered in her ear. “Do you want to take a break?”
“No,” she croaked. “Please just get it over with.”
Quin considered the option of releasing their auras before hearing what Dallas had to say, but if they paused the sad recounts to explain their own predicament, it would merely prolong the heartbreaking story hour. “We need to get through this,” he said, looking at Serafin.
Serafin nodded then turned to their company. “Let's hear yours, Dallas. Then we'll tell you ours.”
“Sure,” Dallas agreed, bracing his elbows on his knees. “My story starts long before Grant's took place – fifty-nine years ago, when I was a carefree seven-year-old. Agro had been building his army for about four years and had already procured a substantial following. The name Unforgivables hadn't been coined yet; people called them the Lost Ones, because they were magicians who’d lost touch with their peaceful roots. Today his army mostly consists of people forced or brainwashed into servitude, but back then the bulk of his followers were willing rebels, and they weren't as hidden as they are now. It wasn't uncommon for them to be seen in public, acting disrespectful and bullying the locals, both magical and non. When they first started haunting our restaurants and taverns, we dealt with it. Well, I say we, but I was just a boy and hadn't seen them. The adults had banned the children from going into town to keep us safe, so I stayed home and raptly listened when the adults complained about them, wishing I could see the bad wizards for myself. Looking back, of course, I wish I'd never made that wish at all. After two weeks of inappropriate behavior, my coven decided to ban Agro and his delinquents from their businesses, and from then on, when the Lost Ones showed up, the proprietor would close shop, leaving Agro with no magical watering holes or eateries. And that's all it took to bring his wrath on my family. Four days into our stand against them, Agro showed up at our community, and he had no intention of negotiating. They were there for one reason only – to show the rest of the magical world what happens when someone defies the Dark Elite. His army came in blazing, and within minutes the other children and I were watching every adult member of our coven burn in a pile in the middle of our lawn. There were six of us; my three-year-old brother, my four younger cousins and myself, the oldest at the age of seven. We were held by Agro's men and forced to keep our eyes open as our family turned to ash. When residue and smoke was all that remained, Agro walked down the line, staring at us with red eyes as he drove his point home. He said, when asked what happened here, you'll tell them your ignorant family was foolish enough to deny the Dark Elite, and for that, they burned. Then his men dropped us to the ground and took flight. We stayed with our charred family until a neighboring coven came to check on us. Then my brother and I were separated from our cousins and relocated into a new community. That was almost sixty years ago, and since then, I've sat in on plans to defeat Agro on eight separate occasions, but each time I've respectfully bowed out, because the missions were doomed to fail. I won’t waste my life by lending my support to a half-ass attack, but when my revenge is in sight, I’m all in. It's not my end that concerns me, only Agro's.”
Everyone on the lawn stayed silent, haunted by the heart-wrenching image of six small children with deadly firelight reflecting off their tear-streaked cheeks and in their frightened eyes. And Layla was shaking as she choked back sobs, still hidden in Quin’s neck.
“You know,” Grant blurted, quizzically staring at Layla’s back, “she wouldn't be hurting so much if she'd let that aura go.”
“She knows,” Quin replied.
Grant shook his head then looked at Serafin. “I guess it's time you share your story. I have a feeling it’s going to be remarkable.”
Serafin cracked a smile as he gave a nod. “Yes, let's get on with it. Layla, sweetheart?”
Layla took a deep breath as she wiped her face. Then she looked at her grandpa. “I'll be better in a minute,” she assured, turning her attention on Dallas and Grant. “Your history with Agro is heartbreaking. Those you lost would no doubt be proud of your endurance to not only live, but to live in a way that allows you to smile on the same day you have to recount your sad stories. May we all find a measure of peace when wounded so deeply.”
Grant smiled, once again tilting his head as he examined her. Then he looked at Serafin. “Are you going to tell us who this sweet young lady really is? Or do we have to keep guessing?”
Serafin threw Quin a glance then turned to their guests. “Dallas, Grant, I’d like you to meet my granddaughter.”
Their gazes snapped to Layla, then back. “Your…”
“Granddaughter,” Serafin repeated.
“But…” Grant’s gaze flashed back and forth. “That would mean she's Aedan’s daughter.”
“That's exactly what it means.”
Their mouths fell open, and Serafin lifted a hand. “You see our predicament.”
They silently nodded, so Serafin went on. “Well that's only half of it. Quin, the young man she's sitting with, is a bonded child. The son of Cordelia and Kemble,” he elaborated, pointing out the golden couple, “and as of Monday night, he's Layla's bonded mate.”
“No way,” Grant mumbled.
“It's not possible,” Dallas added.
“I assure you it is,” Serafin disagreed, looking at his granddaughter. “Let your lights go.”
Quin and Layla released their auras and bonded lights, sighing as they examined the explosion of color. Then they kissed and looked at their company.
Dallas had a hand to his heart, and Grant stared with bulging eyes while holding his breath. He eventually filled his lungs while shaking his head. Then he turned to Serafin. “You do have yourselves quite the predicament, don't you?”
“More than you know,” Serafin confirmed. “Agro's aware of Layla's existence, he suspects she's here, and he was in this community less than a week ago. We believe he’s camped about an hour away, undoubtedly plotting his next attack, and Quin and Layla have chosen to stay and fight rather than run and hide. When Agro returns, we’ll have a battle on our hands, and we need help fighting it. So what do you say, guys?” He grinned and raised his eyebrows. “Ready for that revenge?”
The End
Book 8: The Choice
Layla has found heaven on earth in Quin's loving embrace, but evil lurks around the corner, obsessed with Layla’s power and determined to make her life hell.
Will she once again flee from an enemy who’s been hunting her since birth? Or will she find the strength to stand her ground and fight?
The Earth Angel Series
The Letter
The Ring
The Coven
The Lie
The Stranger
The Fall
The Bond
The Choice
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About the Author
B. C. Burgess is a small town girl born and raised in Oklahoma, where she still resides with her devoted husband and their young son. She’s addicted to coffee and writing and thinks the combination is heaven. Inspired to write by her love of reading, she feels fiction provides a healthy escape from the hardships of life, and hopes her stories touch the hearts of her readers, just as she’s been touched time and again. Though most of her visions flower in the form of fiction, she dreams of the day her passion for writing, along with determination and hard work, will prove to her son creative dreams can come true.