Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(30)

“I came because you told me you were here.”

“Hmm, that was nice of me. Telling you where I was so you wouldn’t worry. How very mature of me.”

His jaw clenches and I can all but hear his teeth grind together, but I’m not backing down. Not this time. “This is really how you want tonight to go?” he asks, coming closer in what I can only assume is an attempt to intimidate me. Too bad it isn’t working.

“You don’t get to blame me. This is your choice, not mine.”

“I told you. I had something to do.”

“Yeah, well, now I have something to do.”

“Right here?” He crouches down on my right side, and with a quick squeeze of my shoulder, Lily steps back. I don’t blame her. It’s all I can do to hold myself up to the crushing dominance of his personality right now. Lily doesn’t stand a chance, especially considering she doesn’t have the same soul-deep belief that he won’t hurt her that I have.

“It appears so.” I’m not giving an inch.

He reaches out, gently circles my right wrist with his fingers. Then slides his hand—slowly, slowly—up my arm and shoulder, until he reaches the bend where my neck meets my shoulder. He rests his hand there for long seconds, before continuing the journey up to my cheek. He strokes his fingers softly over my jaw, his eyes ablaze with emotion, and for the first time I realize it’s not anger motivating him. It’s fear.

That knowledge brings my own anger down a few notches as I try to put myself in his place. After everything that’s happened to me in the last couple of weeks, is it any wonder he freaked out when I wasn’t at home? Yes, it could have been avoided if he’d just answered his phone—or if he hadn’t left to begin with. But that doesn’t mean I can discount his concern.

“Look at me, Xandra.”

It’s no less a command for the fact that he whispers it, and while I might have ignored him just a couple of minutes ago, understanding tempers my reaction. Besides, if I’m honest, I want to look at him. I want to see in his eyes the truth of where he’s been and what he’s been doing. I don’t have a claim on him, I know that, but I’ve also spent the better part of the last couple of hours worrying if he was injured or dead. Common courtesy doesn’t take much.

I turn my head, finally prepared to explain what is going on, but I never get the chance. Because this time it’s Declan who loudly sucks air in through his teeth.

“What the hell?” he demands, fear at my disappearance forgotten. He moves in front of me, slides his fingers around to the other side of my jaw, probing delicately. “Who did this to you?” His voice vibrates with fury, with power.

It takes me a second to remember what he’s talking about—so much has happened tonight that I actually forgot that the whole left side of my face looks like someone took a baseball bat to it.

“Xandra.” It’s another command, one I might feel inclined to defy if I didn’t already feel the healing warmth flowing in from his fingertips. The ache I’ve carried since I woke up from the dream about Shelby slowly dissipates under his oh-so-tender ministrations.

“It’s been a rough night,” I finally tell him.

Behind me, Lily snorts. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Tell me.”

“Later.” Declan’s touch muted the compulsion for a couple of minutes, but now it’s back, worse than ever. I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin—or worse, claw it off my body—if I don’t figure out what this small, plot of grass is trying to tell me. “I have a body to find.”

Declan freezes. “What, here?”

“It appears so. Goddess knows the compulsion won’t let me move more than three feet in any direction. But we can’t figure out where the victim is hidden.”

Declan steps back, pulls me gently to my feet. “You’re sure it’s here?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Fuck.” His hand wraps around the back of my head, pulls me closer as he leans down and presses his forehead gently to mine. For long seconds he doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything but stand there—as if he’s gathering strength from me even as he’s loaning his to me. The last of my anger abates. It’s hard to stay mad at a man who literally trembles at the idea of me being hurt.

“We’re going to talk about everything I missed tonight later.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Somehow I figured that was how it was going to be with you.” Still holding me tightly, he takes a few deep breaths—it’s probably fanciful thinking, but I swear it feels like he’s drawing my scent deep inside himself. Goddess knows, that’s what I’m doing. The wild cinnamon scent of him is a gift to my senses even after the night I’ve had.