Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(102)

“Better now that you’re safe.” He sits up, presses soft kisses to my right shoulder and the side of my neck. “You frightened me.”

He pushes the last words out from between gritted teeth and I know it took a lot for him to get them out at all. For a warlock like Declan—so strong, so powerful—admitting fear is akin to slicing off one of his limbs and then dousing the wound in alcohol. Only about a million times more painful. But he’s done it. For me.

I can do no less. But there are many ways to be strong and the last thing he needs right now is to catch a glimpse of my utter vulnerability. Not when he has to concentrate on recovering. And not when I’m so screwed up inside that I can barely tell which side is up.

“How are you feeling?” he asks after the silence stretches too long between us. This time, I know he doesn’t mean the physical stuff.

“I’m okay.”

He twists so those crazy onyx eyes of his are looking straight into mine. “Yeah?”

No, not even close. But he doesn’t need to hear. Nobody does right now, not when we’re all drowning in our own shades of grief. “I’ll be better once I find out who’s doing this to my family.”

“We’ll find out. I promise.” He eases me back down onto the bed. “Rachael stopped by while you were sleeping. She says you need to get as much rest as possible. She worked on your concussion for a while, made sure there wasn’t any dangerous brain swelling or bleeding, but she says you need a lot of rest for the healing to take effect.”

“I don’t think I can sleep any more.”

“Try.” He pets my hair, my cheek, silently urging me to relax.

“How are we going to find the people responsible for this mess?” I ask after a long pause. “If it’s not the ACW, if it’s someone playing us off against each other, how are we going to find them? There are hundreds of thousands of witches out there. Any one of them could be trying to mastermind a coup.”

He strokes a hand over my hair. “Why don’t you get some more sleep and we’ll talk about this in a few hours?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “That sounds remarkably like ‘Don’t worry your pretty little head about this, little lady. The big boys will take care of it.’”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll worry you’re pretty little head no matter what I say.”

I gape at him. “Good answer,” I tell him sarcastically.

He leans down, brushes his warm lips against my own. “Xandra, much as I’d like to take care of this for you, I am well aware that you should be involved. That you need to be involved.”

And just that easily my annoyance abates. In its place is the sorrow I’ve been holding at bay through sheer force of will. Declan sees, and the impartial mask he’s been wearing for the last few minutes melts away. “Oh, baby, it’s okay,” he tells me as tears seep silently down my cheeks. “It’s okay.”

“It doesn’t feel okay.”

“I know.” He presses soft kisses against my forehead, my eyes, my cheeks.

“I loved her so much.”

He shifts so I’m cuddled up against him, his entire body wrapped around mine in his effort to shield me from my pain.

Somehow his care only makes the agony more acute. I start to cry in earnest now, huge, wracking sobs that feel like they’re going to tear me apart from the inside out. I can’t believe Hannah’s gone, can’t believe I’ll never get to hear another one of her lame jokes or listen to her recount some ridiculous thing that happened to her when she went to the bank or the supermarket or the zoo. Hannah had a gift of seeing the absurd in everyday situations, and more often than not, she used that gift to keep the rest of us in the family from taking ourselves too seriously.

I can’t imagine what we’re going to do without her. Don’t want to imagine it.

Just the thought has me crying harder, until I’m all but gagging under the onslaught of pain. Declan tenses against me and there’s a hitch in the soothing sounds he’s making as he tenderly rubs my back. I know I’m worrying him, just as I know that my agony is also causing him pain. I regret it, but there’s nothing I can do to stop the tears.

It just hurts too damn much to keep them in.

I’m not sure how long I lie there in his arms, weeping. Long enough for my eyes to swell under the onslaught and for my head to start pounding with renewed vigor.

But somewhere in the middle of all that bawling, I become aware of a warmth spreading through me. It starts in my back, in the exact spots where Declan’s burned and battered hands are resting. Continues up to my shoulders, across my chest before running down my arms to my own hands. From there it spreads to my stomach, my legs, until every part of my body is filled with the comforting heat.