Snakeroot (10 page)

No. Connor realized that all of those rational explanations crumbled upon close examination. The truth was here. This visceral need that held him hostage; the need for her voice, her touch, her scent. For all that was Adne.

Somehow, despite all his denials, Connor had known that once he let Adne take hold of him—heart and flesh—that it would be like that. That there would only be her for the rest of his life.

If that wasn’t scary as hell, Connor didn’t know what was.

And now that Adne slipped from his arms more nights than she stayed, Connor had begun to fear that it was too much for her.

“Are you trying to open the door with the power of your mind?”

Connor had been so consumed by his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Sabine approaching.

“Because as far as I’m aware, the Force isn’t a real thing.” Sabine smiled at him, though her brow was slightly furrowed, revealing concern.

“I know.” Connor pushed his hair back from his forehead, giving a little laugh. “It’s disappointing, isn’t it? I just have to check every so often to be sure.”

Sabine kept smiling, but her eyes narrowed. “Seriously, though. What’s up?”

Connor ground his teeth. He’d been trying to get Adne to talk about her frequent disappearing acts, but he hadn’t told anyone else about it.

“You lose something?” Sabine glanced at the closed door.

Knowing that Sabine wasn’t going to let him off, Connor said, “She wasn’t there when I woke up. Just want to see if she’s okay.”

“Fair enough.” Sabine shrugged. “But I’m surprised she’s not with you. From what Adne’s told me, you’ve got some serious talent between the sheets.”

Connor choked a little. He was used to dishing out salacious commentary, but being on the receiving end of those jibes was still pretty new. Though startled by Sabine’s remark, Connor nonetheless found it reassuring. At least Adne hadn’t passed any complaints on to her friend.

“I do what I can,” Connor said, trying to return to form. He wasn’t sure he was ready to share his real concerns with Sabine. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the former Guardian, but he was protective of his relationship with Adne—letting others in felt risky.

Sabine, however, wasn’t one to give up the hunt once she’d caught a scent. “I’m sure you do. But Adne snuck out on you? Does that happen often?”

Sabine was also not one to beat around the bush.

Connor grimaced, which apparently was answer enough for Sabine.

“Really?” Her eyebrows went up.

“I notice you’re not in Ethan’s bed,” Connor shot back.

Sabine laughed. “Ethan knows that I like to prowl at night.” Her smile became wicked. “And he loves it when I come back to bed. He doesn’t mind at all when I wake him up.”

“I’m sure,” Connor said drily. He hadn’t meant to go after Ethan and Sabine’s relationship, which was perfect for both surly Ethan and sharp-edged Sabine. In truth, he was a little jealous. By all accounts, Ethan and Sabine—once sworn enemies—should have the complicated, difficult romance. Instead it was Connor who felt like love was tying him in knots.

The teasing glint in Sabine’s gaze faded. “If you’re out here in your pajamas, you must be worried. Is something wrong between you two?”

“No,” Connor said too quickly, then shook his head. “I mean, I don’t know.”

Sabine jerked her chin toward Adne’s door. “Are you sure she’s in there?”

“I have no idea where she is.” Connor heard the weariness in his voice and felt the weight of it on his shoulders.

Regarding him with concern, Sabine said, “She loves you. Don’t ever think she doesn’t. If Adne has a problem, it’s not you.”

“I know she loves me,” Connor told Sabine. “And I . . . there aren’t words for what Adne is to me. But—”

“But what?” Sabine put her hands on her hips.

“But . . .” Connor took a step back. Sabine’s expression was a little dangerous. “What if it’s too much?”

“You’re going to have to run that by me again,” Sabine said.

“It’s just—” Connor scratched the back of his neck, uneasy with the conversation, yet desperate for some relief from the stress of keeping his fears bottled up. “What if it happened too fast? I kept Adne away for so long. I knew what she wanted from me, but I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping my distance. Maybe that was the best course and now I’ve mucked it up. What if now that she has it . . .”

Connor couldn’t finish. His stomach lurched at the thought that after all this time, Adne might regret having pursued him.

“Be careful what you wish for?” Sabine’s laugh was harsh. “Bullshit.”

“You can’t know that,” Connor said, slightly injured by her brash reply.

“The hell I can’t,” Sabine told him. “You had to know that with you and Adne it was going to be all or nothing. Once it happened, that was it.”

Connor started to object, but Sabine shook her head. “She doesn’t regret it. She has known for years that you belong together. Nothing will change that.”

“I guess.” Connor shoved his hands into the pockets of his flannel pajama pants.

Sabine laughed again. “When did you get lame, Connor?”

“I am not lame.” Connor glared at her, then laughed sheepishly.

“Yep.” Sabine nodded. “That comeback proves beyond a doubt that you are in no way lame. Now go back to bed. Despite what anyone says, lurking is not a turn-on.”

With a sigh, Connor rolled his shoulders back. He knew she was right. And he was tired.

“Don’t you go forgetting who it is you fell in love with, Connor,” Sabine continued. “Adne has never needed looking after. She’s a survivor—stronger than any of us by a long shot.”

“Yes,” Connor said quietly. “I know.”

“But I’ll try to catch up with Adne,” Sabine told him. “I’ve been so busy with Rowan Estate, it’s been a while since we’ve had girl time. If something’s off, I’ll try to get to the bottom of it.”

“Thanks, Sabine.” Connor turned away from Adne’s door. “Don’t wear Ethan out.”

“Mind your own business,” Sabine hissed at his back.

“You’re one to talk.” Connor retraced his steps. While his fears hadn’t been allayed entirely, he did feel much better. By the time he reached his door and opened it, he half expected to find Adne curled up in bed, awaiting his return.

But the bed lay as Connor had left it. Disheveled and empty. Undoubtedly cold. Connor pushed off the weight of disappointment that tried to drag him back into self-pity. He went to an armoire and took out an extra wool blanket.

Hardly a substitute for Adne, but it was the best he could do. Sabine wasn’t wrong, Adne had never been helpless; wherever she was, she could take care of herself. Connor closed his eyes, clinging to that thought and wishing he could understand why now, and never before, he had so much trouble believing it.

LOGAN’S VISION BLURRED.
He rubbed his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time in the past hour and tried to make the page in front of him come back into focus.

I should have asked more questions. Paid more attention.

His father had lived for over a century. Though he hadn’t been born a Keeper, Efron Bane had wasted no time after his ascension. At the sudden, violent end of his life, he’d been one of the most powerful warlocks walking the earth. Logan had taken his father’s legacy for granted. As Efron’s heir, he’d always assumed that his father’s power would be there for the taking.

And there it was again. Regret.

Logan had come to believe that regret was the most unpleasant of emotions. Far worse than grief or melancholy, one became mired in regret as if it were a tar pit, but rather than just slowing and sinking in the muck, regret’s dark pool had sharp, toxic spines that pierced the skin and injected its captive with the reminder of missed opportunities, poor choices, and all the wrong roads taken.

Regret: the parasite twisting in his gut, reminding him of all that could have been. Of all he’d failed to become.

Even the spell he’d managed to pull off had been a bust. He managed to call up a Guardian. A Guardian who, spirit or not, probably wanted to tear out Logan’s throat just like his packmate had done to Logan’s father.

Ren had barely disguised his aversion to serving as Logan’s connection to the Nether realm. Whatever magic had chained Ren’s will to Logan’s command surely chafed at the wolf’s neck. It made Logan shudder to speculate about what would transpire should Ren find a way to break that hold.

And that left Logan with what? A reluctant spirit guide and a riddle of a message.

You have to get back what you lost.

Logan didn’t doubt the double meaning of Ren’s words. Yes, he’d have to get that box of bones and trinkets back, but he also knew that Ren spoke to the loss of Keeper magic itself. That was what had truly been lost. And Ren obviously knew how desperate Logan was to get it back.

Frustrated and demoralized, Logan lifted the heavy book he’d been poring over with the intent of putting it aside for the night in favor of getting a stiff nightcap. As the pages crackled and flipped, however, an illustration on the back inner cover caught Logan’s eye.

He’d seen family trees before, but none quite like this. The most elaborate illustrated genealogies he’d seen featured trees blanketed by leaves in shades of jade and emerald, with golden branches filled with blooms and sometimes populated by fauna. The vitality of the scene intended to mirror, or at least project, the good fortune of the family’s history.

This tree appeared to be dead. Its enormous trunk and sprawling branches suggested the tree had seen several centuries before it died. In its prime the tree must have been glorious. Why an artist would render such a tree as lifeless eluded Logan.

A gaping hole at the heart of the tree further marred its beauty, but what drew Logan’s eye wasn’t the wound torn through the ancient wood, but the name inked below the black maw.

Bosque Mar

That couldn’t be right. While Bosque ruled the Keepers, he wasn’t . . . human. Logan didn’t know what to call Bosque. He’d witnessed his master’s horrific metamorphosis from effete gentleman into a creature of nightmares: part man, part insect, all terror.

So why was Bosque’s name at the base of this family tree? And what was the Latin inscription beneath his name?

Sanguine et igne nascimur

Something about blood and fire. Logan had taken Latin, but as with all of his studies, he’d been lazy about it. Another regret to add to the ever-growing pile. He ignored the twinge of annoyance with himself and continued to study the image.

The links between marital partners and subsequent generations on this chart weren’t simply lines, but rather chain links rendered in crimson ink. Its symbolism made Logan stir with unease.

The blood oath.

It shouldn’t have surprised him, but nevertheless Logan felt a cool discomfort crawling up his neck. He’d invoked the blood oath to force Bosque to reveal his true form, making the Harbinger vulnerable to Shay’s attack.

And that was how it had ended. Bosque had been exiled to his Nether realm. The Rift was closed.

Logan ran his finger along the curling edge of the paper.

But this is where it began.

“It can begin again.”

Logan yelped and jumped off the bed to face Ren.

“What the—” Logan struggled to regain some semblance of dignity. He glared at Ren. “What are you doing here?”

“Bringing the message,” Ren answered. “Because you’re ready for it.” He shot a glance at the open book. “Or at least you’re nearly there.”

Logan frowned at the wolf. “So you can just show up now? Whenever you want?”

“Pretty much.” Ren smiled. “The gate is open. You opened it. I can walk through at will.” His smile faded. “Though I have to go where I’m told at times as well.”

“Like now?” Logan’s heart had finally stopped ramming his rib cage.

Ren nodded. “Like now.”

“Who sent you?” Logan reached for the book, pulling it to the edge of the bed so he could get a better look at the illustration.

“Do you really have to ask?”

Logan’s eyes flicked to the name at the base of the tree. His throat closed up.

It can begin again.

Was this real? Could Bosque really be sending him messages from another world?

“If this is a trick—” Logan peered at Ren.

“What?” Ren gave a rough laugh. “You’ll kill me? You’re a little late to the party for that, Logan.”

Logan didn’t acknowledge the futility of his threat.

Ren grimaced. “Do you think—if it were my choice—that I would spend any moment of my afterlife, or whatever this is, hanging around you?”

“You make a good point,” Logan replied.

Ren shrugged. “You have the message. Can I go?”

“That’s it?” Logan asked, feeling a renewed surge of frustration. “Cryptic one-liners are all you can give me?”

Baring sharp canines, Ren answered, “I’m just the intercessor. I go where I must and say what I’ve been told to say. From what I can gather, you’re the architect of this scheme as well as its constructor. All I can do is confirm that you have the design and components right.” Ren’s eyes grew distant, then he glanced at the book again. “I can tell you that you’ve found the key.”