Syphon's Song (28 page)

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?”

“Considering this is the third bomb in thirty-six hours, almost everyone is being called up. If we get a lead on their next target, we can move faster.”

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.

“Gregor and Dane?” Her words were too loud for the house, even considering the coming helicopter.

“Dane’s the guy with the beard, two black eyes and broken nose. Gregor was the one you stepped over at the bottom of the basement stairs.”

“I know that! And no. No, no, no.”

“Gregor likes you. Dane doesn’t like anyone, so don’t take it personally.”

“I’m not fond of either one of them. And I hope they do take it personally!”

His shoulders went up and down with a sigh. He rested his head on hers. “I’m not leaving you here alone. They’ll do their job.”

“Because you’ll strangle them if they don’t! That’s not a very good reason to do a job.” She stepped away.

“It’s the best reason.” His eyes hardened. “Someone in Double-Wide has targeted you, Bronte. They know who you are. More importantly, they know where you are. They knew you were with us at the symphony. They got onto the estate once, and I have no idea how they did it. I don’t know how they got through the security spells, or how they got back out without setting off any alarms. They’re blowing up buildings and people in the heart of Rallis Territory.” He closed the gap she’d created. “Gregor and Dane stay.”

She folded her arms over her chest and brushed up against a hard black cylinder in a sheath strapped to his chest. She shivered and stepped back. That one housed a potion, though she had no idea what kind of weapon it was.

“You don’t have to talk to them,” he said. “They’ll spend most of the time outside the house unless it’s an emergency.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I know.” His jaw twitched as he closed his eyes for a moment. “If you really don’t want them, I’ll reassign two sentries from the big house. Would you rather have that?”

She’d rather have none, but he wouldn’t settle for that. He was trying to compromise. It was a start. “If General Wilen has called up everyone, how can those two be here?”

“The security of the estate has already been compromised. We could have Double-Wide agents here and not even know it.” He picked up a black bag and stepped into the kitchen area. He must have taken her question as a capitulation. “The landline number to the big house is on my desk. I guarantee my mother is waiting for your call.”

She followed him to the door. He leaned down and kissed the top of her nose. As he opened the door, bright sunshine and crisp fall air rushed in. The rumbling thump of the helicopter sitting in his meadow pounded through the floor and into her body. The pilot turned his head her way, sunglasses encasing his eyes. Bronte jumped behind the door, but stuck her head around.

“When will you be back?” she hollered. This house would be lonely without him.

“Could be tonight, could be…another night. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He walked backward across the porch, keeping her in view.

This was so fast, so abrupt. She peeked out after him and locked eyes with Gregor, who leaned against the outside wall. She stepped back in the house and slammed the door. And then opened it right back up. “Be careful!” she yelled louder than she could ever remember yelling. The noise of the rotor was stiff competition.

Vincent turned in the middle of the meadow and waved. She closed the door, muffling the pounding
thump
, and watched from the window.

Goddess, but he was handsome. And overbearing. And controlling. And now he was gone. She was standing on her own. This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it?

The helicopter lifted off the ground. At the edge of the meadow, trees shuddered from the violent wind. Bronte followed the huge black bug with her gaze, murmuring prayers of protection for him. It shrank to a speck in the sky as it flew away and then disappeared.

She padded over to the bed, sat on the edge and pulled her knees up to her chest. The sudden quiet of the house seemed to wait for her as if it were a cognizant presence. It held its breath to see if she’d accept what she’d been offered. A home, a heart. As if to dwell here without him was to accept this as her place too. She scanned his sparse bedroom. Its openness declared there was plenty of room for her.

Regardless, dwelling in a sheet was not an option. She padded to his dresser where he’d neatly piled her clothes. She pulled out her skirt and inspected the snags and splotches of forest dirt. It was no longer up to snuff after its adventures in the gyre, but she had to wear something. She picked up her silk camisole and flapped it through the air in a fruitless attempt to wave out the wrinkles.

The knock at the door didn’t stop her inspection or affect the pace of her movements. She would ignore Gregor and Dane.

But she couldn’t ignore the rap on the bedroom window accompanied by Lady Rallis’s hollered hello. Bronte scrambled into the bathroom to throw on the skirt and another t-shirt as quickly as she could.

Not fast enough. Lady Rallis zapped the front door’s lock and opened it.

“Hello, Bronte! Are you alright?” Helen called in. “I want you to know…Vincent may be gone, but you’re still in good hands. I don’t want you worrying. You have enough to handle already.”

Bronte stepped out of the bedroom to find Vincent’s mother standing in front of the couch. “Lady Rallis, yes. I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Lady Casteel.” Sarcasm peaked from behind Helen’s Mayflower manners.

Bronte huffed with dropped jaw. “Helen.”

Helen tipped her head, acknowledging the correction. “That’s better. Though you do have a right to the title, you know.” Helen walked over, her high heels silent. The pressure of the sound-muffling spell pushed at Bronte’s ears. Casting such energy was second nature to the aristocratic mage. Clacking across the floor was plebeian—yet another example of how Bronte would never blend in. She was going to stand out if she lived among mages.

Assuming she lived.

Helen tsked with a worried frown. “I can’t believe Tom Wilen dared to touch you! I hope Vincent straightened him out.” She didn’t wait for an answer, lifting a big shopping bag. “I brought you something to wear.”