Heart Choice (49 page)

“T'Blackthorn looks bad,” T'Ash said. He loomed like a dark shadow over the sofa.

“I would guess that my cuz has lost his woman,” Holm said.

“Pretty pitiful if a tracker misplaces his own woman,” T'Ash said.

A strangled sound escaped Straif.

“Guess he didn't want to marry her,” T'Ash said.

Holm said, “He once told me that he wanted Family, yet he's thrown away the love of a good woman, the admiration of a boy. Does that sound reasonable to you, T'Ash?”

Straif didn't like how the two friends ganged up on him, but couldn't muster the effort to defend himself. He was so cold he was sure he was frozen, one movement of a finger could break it off.

T'Ash shrugged. “Probably thinks that since he has a
HeartMate,
he'll find another woman to love him well-enough.”

Holm lifted his brows. “Now the Residence is in order again, himself confirmed as T'Blackthorn, he can hunt his HeartMate.”

“No!” Straif whispered, but he didn't know if the others heard it, it sounded so raw, like the painful cry of an animal.

“You know Blackthorns always track their HeartMates, don't you, T'Ash?” Holm said.

“Huh. Better wait for a while then. Dead old lover's body in Death Grove, new lover finishes restoring his Residence, and she's gone. Doesn't look good,” T'Ash said.

As Straif raised his shoulders to prop them against the arm of the sofa, he watched carefully to make sure his torso didn't break in half, though he didn't know if it mattered.

“I heard the Ship's even given him an immunization for the virus that he can use for his Family. Everything's just rolling along great for Straif, here.” Holm tapped Straif on his shoulder, and the heat from just the small contact of his cuz's fingers made Straif whimper.

“Are you two
trying
to kill me?” he asked, then finally managed to look at the men. Holm was stern. He'd make an excellent GreatLord T'Holly when his father reinstated him as Heir. T'Ash appeared impassive as usual, but as he lounged in one of the large chairs, his body language sent out irritation, perhaps even an edge of contempt.

“Don't I hurt enough without you two beating me up?”

“We don't know. Do you hurt?” Holm asked.

Straif closed his eyes. “I don't think I'll ever be warm again.” He didn't want to talk. He only wanted to lie still until heat returned to his body—a decade maybe, the way he felt. He was beyond caring if the other two stayed or went.

“You do look real white,” T'Ash said. “Might be he's suffering a bit. Losing a woman can do that to you, but it isn't as if it were his
HeartMate.
”

Anger moved sluggishly through Straif, he opened his eyes and stared at T'Ash, then heard the clinking of glasses. Surprised at the sound, he saw Holm at a small corner bar that appeared to be stocked with liquor. Something else Mitchella had added to the room. It was beautiful and functional, like all her work.

Holm gave Straif half a glass of whiskey. Wise, since Straif's hand shook so, the liquid almost slopped over the edge. Gritting his teeth in effort, and loathing that the other two watched, he brought the drink to his mouth, then had to force his jaws apart to drink. Whiskey trickled into his mouth, down his throat. Must not be a good brand, he didn't feel the fire.

“We've all known the pain of great loss,” Holm said quietly. “The loss of our Family.”

T'Ash grunted, accepted the whiskey Holm handed him, and stretched out his legs.

Maybe the liquor was effective after all, Straif felt embers igniting in his gut.

“It's rough,” Holm said.

“Rougher if it's done to you instead of doing it yourself,” T'Ash said.

That brought Straif's feet down on the floor. “I did not kill my Family.” He'd accepted that, finally. He hadn't killed his parents. They'd been dying, just as he had. Both had known that even if one of them had survived, the HeartMate would have perished within the year at the loss of the HeartBond. So they'd given him the strength to live—with love. Even the guilt that he'd survived and everyone else had died had faded—with the work of restoring his Residence, his joy in Mitchella. He tried to recapture those feelings, but they were lost under the frozen tundra of his heart.

“Not one of us was guilty of losing our Family,” T'Ash said. “Mine was killed. Straif's died—”

“I chose my HeartMate over my Family,” Holm said. “In that way, I'm guilty of losing mine, but we didn't push our women away—”

“Speak for yourself. I did. For her own good,” T'Ash muttered, staring out the nearest window.

“Well,
I
—” Holm stopped, coughed.

“So you two made mistakes, too.” The smallest tendril of warmth sprouted in Straif.

Holm sank down onto the sofa next to Straif, sipped his own drink, and said, “You could have learned from our experience.”

They sat for a moment in silence. Straif downed his whiskey, hoping for more warmth.

“The basic question is whether you want to pay the cost of letting your line die for the love of a woman,” Holm said.

Straif's mother and father had cherished each other. Through love they'd died to ensure he lived. Could he, through love, live and let any future progeny die?

“Love is everything.” T'Ash turned red and hunched his neck into his shoulders.

“You know very well that if Danith had been sterile, you wouldn't have HeartBonded with her.” Straif's voice was harsh, as if all his scorching emotions had scoured his throat.

“It wouldn't have been long before I'd have surrendered,” T'Ash mumbled. “I couldn't live without my HeartMate—not even before we HeartBonded.” He glared at Straif and Holm. “And I never said that.”

“Can you live without the woman?” Holm asked. “I mean
live,
not survive?”

“How do you feel about her marrying another man?” T'Ash asked at the same time.

Two blows, one to the brain, the other, more horrible, to the gut.

When silence stretched, T'Ash rose. “There's a party outside of this room. By the way, the Residence looks great.” He tilted his head and his face lit up. “My Lady has arrived. She's putting your sickly FamCat to bed. Thinks Drina will be near full strength after a septhour of rest.”

“Thank you, T'Ash, and thank her.”

“You'll get a bill,” T'Ash said cheerfully. He buffeted Straif on the shoulder. “Now that you're T'Blackthorn again, our fees will be high.” He sobered and shook his head. “It's a hard decision you have, but blood isn't as important as we've been taught. I'll be adopting some of the people working for me into my Family. I have Danith, but she always wanted a big Family, so I have connections with the Clovers, too, always will.” He spread his large hands. “There's—affection—between all of us. Blessings upon you.” He nodded once, then left the room.

“Mitchella's sterile. You won't give up your Family line for her,” Holm prodded.

Straif looked at him. Did he see disappointment in Holm's eyes? “You can't—”

“No, I probably can't understand your viewpoint. I gave up everything for my HeartMate. My Family, my future. And I don't regret it.” Holm's eyes fired. “I don't regret HeartBonding with her, following her to a new life.” Holm poked a finger into Straif's chest. “I'll tell you this. Family is important, but what is more important is love, and I'm not just talking about love between a man and a woman, HeartMate love. True Family isn't based on blood, but on love.”

Shock jolted Straif that Holm was repeating words Mitchella had said. “How would you know?”

Now Holm looked aside. “When I was disinherited, I was lost. I thought I'd lost all my Family.” His gaze swung back to meet Straif's. “But Tinne stood by me.
You
stood by me. T'Ash and the Apples. Even T'Hawthorn and Lark's Family consider me a part of
their
Family. Would you like me—love me—if I carried no blood linked to yours?”

Holm
did
know. And he'd left himself emotionally open to anything Straif might say. “I told you last year you were my cuz. You're Family.”

“Listen to yourself.” Holm tapped his finger on Straif's chest. “Listen to your heart.”

A rap came on the door, and Holm's eyes lit with pleasure, just as T'Ash's had. “That's Lark.” He went and opened the door. “Blessings, cuz,” he said, closing the door behind him, leaving Straif alone.

As quiet draped the room, Straif's thoughts roiled. His emotions tore at him. He wanted Mitchella. He
loved
Mitchella. Deeply, passionately.

But if he chose to marry Mitchella, he'd forsake any children of his blood.

The idea of her wedding another man, loving another man brought a haze of red fury so strong he shuddered with it, yet he knew that was a certainty. She'd survive, she'd look to the future, she'd find and love and
make love with
another man. She'd marry and mother a brood of children.

He'd live in a Residence that she had decorated. The notion of having another woman—even a HeartMate—in the Residence was impossible. He couldn't imagine it.

His Family was long gone. His future of a healthy Family had always been an illusion, something he comforted himself with because of the past. But now it was time to free himself from the past and illusions and move into the bright reality of a solid future. Mitchella.

With the decision, an image of her, vibrant, laughing came to his mind so strongly that he thought he could touch her.

He had to get her back.

He didn't know where she was.

Straif smiled. He'd track his woman, claim her as his own.

Thirty-two

Straif set his glass of whiskey aside, his gut pleasantly
warm. He rose from the couch and went to the hidden no-time safe behind a section of the wall. Passing his hand over it, he chanted a couplet, and a drawer extended into the room.

He stared at the treasure, the ancient Blackthorn jewels, then reached for a golden pouch. As he lifted it, metallic clinks sounded, and his hands curved around the Blackthorn marriage bands. He tied the pouch to his belt and banished the drawer, strode to the ResidenceDen door, opened it, and left.

The cook, Gwine Honey, grabbed his arm. “I have a confession to make,” he whispered, then swallowed hard.

Straif prayed for patience. He didn't need this now, but the young man panted so rapidly he might faint. “Yes?”

“I am Gwine Honey. My uncle
is
the cook to the Holly's, but T'Holly never recommended me, and neither did my uncle. He just told me of the opening here.” Gwine lifted his gaze to Straif. “I came on my own.”

Straif didn't have time for this. He clapped a hand on Gwine's shoulder, making him stagger. “You've done a good job. You're hired.”

Gwine released his breath in a whistling exhalation of relief. “Thank you, GrandLord, thank you. You'll never be sorry, I swear.” He bobbed bow after bow.

“Why don't you check on the kitchen?” Straif asked.

Gratitude in his eyes, the cook hurried away. Straif, realizing his mistake, stepped back into the ResidenceDen and placed a privacy spell on the door.

D'Holly,
he called his uncle's wife with his mind.

Here,
she replied in melodious tones.

D'Holly laughed.
Mitchella Clover?

I know where she is,
D'Holly teased.

Blessings upon you,
D'Holly said.

Stachys Blackthorn
. Straif mentally sent to his new relative along their Familial bond. He sensed anxiety from Stachys, but the man hadn't intruded, and that showed a sensitivity Straif hadn't expected.

Here,
Stachys said.
Did you really teleport your old lover to Death Grove? The priestess there says that it was obvious Lobelia was insane from the condition of her body. Is it true
—

There was a long pause.

She is sterile,
Stachys said hesitantly.

I understand,
Stachys said.