Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(77)

“He’s with me.” Figuring that’s the end of it, I brush past them and start down the hall to my parents’ bedroom. But I get only a few feet before I realize that Declan isn’t following me. Jared and the others have closed ranks and are preventing him from passing the spot where they are stationed.

“What’s going on?” I demand, retracing my steps. “I said he’s with me.”

“I’m sorry, Xan, but your mother issued strict orders that he’s not to be allowed past this point.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

A quick glance at Declan’s narrowed eyes shows he doesn’t appreciate the situation. But he doesn’t argue with my father’s security. Though I know he’s jonesing to teach them some manners, all he does is step back, hands raised in the universal gesture of acquiescence.

“Go check on your father,” he tells me. “I’ll just head down to the kitchen for some of that coffee your sister was talking about.”

Love for him wells up inside me. How typical of Declan to put his own annoyance aside and focus on what I need. A part of me wants to tell the whole group of them to go to hell, but short of dragging my mother away from my dad’s sickbed and having her change her orders, there’s nothing I can do or say that is going to convince Jared and the others to let Declan through. In this house, in this town, the queen’s wishes are all but law.

Still, it’s just another annoyance, another insult, that I am determined to call her on when my dad is better. Much as I love her, she’s always making it more and more intolerable for me to be her daughter.

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” I say. “I just want to see him.”

“Take as long as you need.”

I nod, then turn to Jared. “You’re being deliberately awful,” I hiss at him. “There’s no reason for this and you know it.”

For once, his face doesn’t soften as he turns to walk me down the hall. “That man is dangerous, Xandra. To you and everyone else around him. I can’t believe you don’t see that.”

“Do you really think this is the time for us to get in a debate over my choice of lovers?” I don’t even try to keep the anger out of my voice.

“Maybe not, but even without your mother’s order, there was no way I was letting that man get within a hundred feet of your father when he can’t defend himself.”

“Prejudiced much?”

“It’s not prejudice if it’s justified. I’ve known Declan Chumomisto a long while, and if there’s one thing time has proven, it’s that he will use whoever he needs to get what he wants.”

It’s not the first time I’ve heard that accusation—Donovan threw it at me weeks ago when he was convinced Declan was the serial killer stalking Austin and me. It probably won’t be the last time, either.

But I’ll be damned if I sit by and take it, not when I spend most of our time together feeling like I’m using him. And not when he’s just told me that he loves me. “And you think he’s using me?”

“I didn’t say that, darlin’. But my philosophy is ‘forewarned is forearmed.’”

We’re at my parents’ door now, whispering furiously since neither one of us wants to give an inch on this. In the end, I have to because I know I’m not going to be able to change his mind today and I don’t have the time to stand around arguing. Not when my father might be slipping away with every moment that passes.

Shooting Jared a we’ll-finish-this-later look, I knock softly on the closed door, and then turn the knob without waiting for my mother or sister to answer. I don’t want to take them away from any healing they might be doing.

But when I walk in, my mom is sitting by the bed, her head in her hands. She turns to look when I come in, and I’m shocked by how terrible she appears. And how old. Usually, my mother is one of those witches who never leaves her room, let alone the house, with a hair out of place. All part and parcel of being queen, she tells me—usually as she’s encouraging me to change out of my jeans into a more tailored ensemble. Just one more reason I’m thrilled Donovan is the one who will inherit the throne instead of me.

“Xandra!” she exclaims, jumping up and rushing across the room to me. As she gets closer, I realize she’s crying, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy while tears slide silently down her cheeks.

Terror rips through me. It’s one thing for me to get a phone call telling me that my father is in bad shape. It’s another thing altogether to watch my indomitable mother shatter into a thousand pieces. For the first time, I allow myself to wonder not when my father will get better, but if he will.