Authors: Anise Rae
“Obviously not,” she whispered. He thought if she had the energy she would have rolled her eyes. She lifted her head as if she wanted to sit up.
“No. Please don’t move.”
Her brow wrinkled.
“I need a chance to recover, even if you don’t.” He slid his arm under her shoulders, lifting her against him. Her right arm dragged to the ground. She grimaced as she tried to move it. He helped her support it against her stomach.
Bronte gasped. “The medallion. It’s gone.”
A tear dripped down the necromancer’s cheek. “I didn’t want it. I’d rather have you alive than have this.” She held up her arm where the medallion had attached.
Bronte looked up at her sister. “I guess you get both. Death magic doesn’t hurt the thing after all.”
Selene swallowed. “I didn’t know for sure. It…affects other magic things. Really, Bronte. I didn’t know.”
“You’ll be a much better Senator Casteel than me.”
Bronte let her head drop against his shoulder. She looked up at him with those lovely eyes. “Take me home. Please. Your home.”
That worked for him.
Gregor crouched beside him before he could move, whispering in his ear. “Got him leaving out the front doors. Cuffed and ready for transport to the farm.”
Vincent gave a curt nod. “Tell Team Two to wrap up. Pull everyone else out.” He carefully lifted Bronte into his arms.
She wrapped her left arm around his neck. There was a cheer as he carried her down the stairs.
Selene followed them.
Lady Glender waited at the bottom of the stairs and greeted Selene with a short nod. “Senator Selene Glender.”
“It’s Senator Selene Casteel, actually,” Selene corrected as she came to the last step.
“Taking the name of the parents who abandoned you?” Lady Glender gasped as if she were offended.
“No, I’m taking the name of my people.”
Lady Glender nodded. “I’m sad to see you go. You’ve been a valuable envoy.” She looked with blind eyes at Bronte, a greedy smile on her face. “But we’ll take good care of your syphon sister in your place.”
“The hell you will.” Vincent’s shout echoed through the damaged room.
Lady Glender ignored him. She smiled at Bronte. “You’ll stay with us, my dear. And it’s thanks to your colonel’s weave that you can. It’s such an old-fashioned tradition, but beneficial for a syphon. You will always have a source of his power. Being addicted to his energy won’t be an issue.”
“A weave?” Bronte’s bewildered eyes shifted from the old hag to him.
“You can’t have her.”
“I can. I will.”
“What’s a weave?”
He looked down at Bronte and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He halted around an explanation.
A knowing look came into her eyes. “What did you do?”
He would have preferred a more private moment. “I wove my energy into you. A weave marks a mage as…claimed. Usually two mages combine their energy, weave it together and leave a mark on each other. But you…”
“I can’t.”
“So it’s just mine.”
“It’s in my hair, isn’t it?” She muttered something else. It sounded like something about a
wee little bug
.
“You didn’t tell her?” Lady Glender asked. “Very unorthodox of you. Deceitful. You would make a good Council member, colonel. Instead, Bronte will serve the Council. She will syphon away the heavy power weighing us down, burdening our senses.” She gave that fucked-up smile to his syphon. “It’s what you were born to do.”
The mages below protested, their voices a mass of sound. Above the roar, his mother shouted the loudest.
“No.” He would battle to the death if he had to. “You will not do that to her.”
Rumors of mages who disappeared behind these walls were prolific, but never proven.
“What are you going to do, colonel? I can defeat all your weapons.” The old hag took a step forward. “You can’t defend her with a spell at the moment. She’s so sense-sick already, yet she can’t stop syphoning your vibes. If you cast now, it will just make her worse.”
Bronte gasped. “I’m weakening you?”
“No. Never. We’re a team. Partners. You make me stronger.”
She pushed at his chest.
He gently slipped his arm away and made sure her legs were strong enough to hold her.
She turned in his arms, resting her cheek against his chest and giving Lady Glender her back.
“You can’t stop me from taking her.” Lady Glender’s voice boomed through the room. “I am High Council. Our actions serve the best interests of all mages—the greater good, not the individual. The syphon has done that herself tonight. It certainly wasn’t good for her to absorb all that power, saving every person here. With your help, of course. From this moment on, she will serve all magekind by assisting the Council.”
“Gregor.” Bronte whispered just loud enough to be heard above the crowd. “Give me your knife.”
Vincent didn’t dare take his eyes off Lady Glender, but from the way Bronte stirred in his arms, Gregor complied.
She turned to face the High Councilor.
“Lady Glender.” Bronte’s soft voice summoned silence through the room, an impressive feat considering the volume level. She waited until she had the attention of every mage in the room. “I decline your offer to stay in the High Council. I will not hide here. Or anywhere else.”
Lady Glender’s voice resonated. “You think these mages will tolerate your presence?” She gestured to the crowd below. “That you’ll be allowed to live freely and without threat of harm? That is not what usually happens to syphons, you know.”
Bronte took a step forward. The knife glistened in the folds of her skirt. Lady Glender lifted a brow and pursed her lips. She knew the knife was there. The council guards didn’t. Yet. But the old crone could summon them with a thought.
Vincent caught Gregor’s eye. His lieutenant was primed to cast, ready to defend Bronte from their own rulers.
“My power does not harm. As you said, tonight was a demonstration of that.” Bronte swayed.
Vincent tightened his grip around her.
The old woman leaned in to Bronte, her whisper audible through the whole room despite its soft tone. “And if I demand you stay? What then?”
Bronte looked the woman straight in the face, as defiant as he’d ever seen her. She smiled, rebellious and cold. He could see a resemblance to her sister in the expression.
Silence reigned as the two faced off. The crowd stirred as the tension pulled tightly through the grand room.
“Fine then!” Lady Glender capitulated.
What was her game?
“Keep your freedom. Take your chances!” The high councilor spun to the crowd, without eyes but not without sight. “Next year’s Gathering will be here even if the power in the mark grows tenfold.” She raised her hands in the air. “And it will be here the year after that! And so on until I decree otherwise.” Her voice rebounded through the room like a mini-bomb. She pointed a crooked finger at the mages. “Keep that in mind.”
She turned toward him. With a chuckle, she tossed off the mantle of her power like an old, tattered rag. Suddenly she looked like nothing more than a mischievous old woman. She reached up and patted his cheek. “How’s that?”
He nodded, his mind scrambling. “That’s…good.”
The old woman was tricky, and after everything that had happened, he didn’t have the focus to keep up with her.
“Then thank me.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But you owe me.” The quiet words vibrated with power.
Vincent nodded. Bronte was worth it. He swooped his syphon off her unstable feet, clutched her close to his heart and left the crazy woman behind.
* * * *
Vincent pulled up to his house as the sun rose over the trees. Bronte had insisted on going home immediately. With his help, she’d slept most of the trip. She leaned against the seat, too deeply under to know they’d arrived.
Her dark hair spilled over her shoulder. Her pale skin gleamed against it. The handle of Gregor’s sheathed knife stuck out from the top of her dress. His lieutenant had handed her the sheath before they’d left. Bizarre. The man adored his knives.
Vincent had tried to take it from her as she’d slept, but she’d stopped him every time. He frowned at the other man’s gift lying against her breasts. Had he ever given her anything? He would remedy that first thing, shower her with gifts until she forgot about Gregor’s knife.
He slipped silently from his truck and carried her into the house. Her hair spread across the pillows as he laid her on the bed. He reached for the knife one more time.
Her left hand slapped on top of it. She opened her eyes. This time, they stayed opened.
“Why do you have Gregor’s knife?” He couldn’t stop from asking any longer.
“He said I could keep it. You’re right. He does like me.”
A wave of jealousy rose inside him.
She gave him a tired smiled. “The knife was part of my plan. I did have a plan, you know.”
“Half-conscious, you came up with a plan?” He undid the fastening on his jacket as quickly as he could. He wanted nothing more than to lie down next to her.
She nodded sleepily. “It was a bit risky. You’ll probably say I should have consulted with you before I implemented it.”
“Whatever it was, I’m glad you didn’t do it. We need to do something about this bad habit of yours. You tend to think up the most dangerous plans possible.” He lay down and pulled her in close, moving an extra pillow to support her arm.
Goddess, he was so lucky.
“What was this plan?” Better to know so he could close off whatever avenue she was pondering.
“I was going to cut off my hair. Get rid of your weave.”
His heart stuttered at the words. “You wouldn’t have had any of my energy on you if your syphon power truly needs mine. If you really are addicted to my energy, you wouldn’t have survived for long.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did you know about that addiction thing?”
“No.” He narrowed his eyes right back. “But the high councilor obviously knows. Someone needs to infiltrate the High Council and expose their secrets.”
“Uh-huh. So long as that person is a Rallis and only tells you all.”
“Of course.”
She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, you’re right. If I’d cut it off, I probably wouldn’t have survived. I was betting they’d rather have me alive and with you than have a dying syphon on their hands. If the only known syphon in existence died under their watch, it wouldn’t be very good for the Council.”
“Risky, Bronte. But brave. And smart.” He closed his eyes in relief that she hadn’t needed to go to such extremes. That knife wasn’t getting anywhere near his weave.
“Sometimes you have to take a chance.” Her soft voice warmed him. “Fight back. Defend yourself and the ones you love.”
“That’s my job.”
“Well, I guess I’ve learned something from you, because tomorrow I’m going to call Peter Leggert and see if he’ll let me audition for the symphony.”
Vincent wrinkled his brow. “Maybe you should give yourself a few weeks to rest first. Let the arm heal. But I’m sure he’ll let you audition. Hell, you won’t even have to audition.”
“Vincent.” Her voice morphed into a sharp warning. “You are not to interfere. Neither is your mother.”
He wasn’t intimidated. She couldn’t even move off the bed.
“Are we clear?”
“Love, I just want to help. You’re beyond good enough to play with those fools.”
“Fine, then. Help me. And next time, I’ll go with you and help you deflect the bad guy’s bombs.” A determined light glimmered from her eyes like stars in the nighttime sky.
He sighed and leaned his forehead against hers. “Never.” Behind the whispered word lay a determination that matched hers.
“Hmm.” She teased him with her smile. “Are we at a stand still already then?”