Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(80)

How could I have been so blind? I ask myself as I continue to move Rachael down the hall. I have a ton of faith in my parents’ abilities—they are two of the most fearsome witches I know—but still, I should have warned them. I should have listened to Declan, who knows these monsters so much better than I do. I complain about him not trusting me, but I didn’t trust his judgment, either. I won’t make that mistake again. Because if a few rogue Council members are responsible for everything that’s been happening, then chances are my father won’t be the only one who suffers. My mother, Tsura, Donovan, Rachael . . . No one is safe.

Guilt swamps me, but I push it away. There’s time enough to deal with that later. Right now I need to talk to Declan, need to get his opinion on what to do next. Because if he’s right—if one of the remaining Councilors is behind my father’s mysterious illness—then the time for being patient, for waiting to see what develops, is past. We’re already at war, only our enemy didn’t see fit to inform us of that fact. The only question now is what we are going to do about it.

What I want to do is go back to Austin and assassinate the lot of them myself, before anyone else I love is hurt. Now that I know where their headquarters is, I could just sneak in and take care of things before anyone clues in to what is happening. I won’t be like the people who killed Alride, won’t need to put on a big show for whoever finds him. I could be in and out in under an hour and the Council would never be a threat to my family again.

Because the idea appeals to me more—way more—than it should, I force myself to let it go. To put it out of my mind. But no matter how hard I try, the thought remains deep inside me, couched in blood and darkness and something else. Something black and slippery and terrifying that I refuse to look too closely at.

We’re almost at the end of the hallway, and I fight the urge to rush Rachael along. It isn’t her fault I’ve screwed things up so badly. But when one of Jared’s men sees us and comes running, I don’t try to stop him from scooping Rachael up in his arms.

We start moving quickly then, and as we round the corner that leads to this wing’s sitting room and the staircase, I’m already looking for Declan. It turns out he’s right where I left him, looking more uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen him. A woman is sitting on the couch next to him, her arms wrapped around him while he tries to extricate himself from her embrace.

A bunch of different emotions hit me at once, but before I can do anything but stare, Declan pulls out of the embrace. Then he scoots back against the arm of the couch, obviously trying to put distance between himself and the woman currently clinging to him like Saran Wrap.

Considering the way she follows him across two cushions, I’m not sure she gets the message. Which is fine. I’ll be happy to deliver it myself.

I start forward before I’m even aware of moving. I don’t normally consider myself a possessive person—I never have been with any man before—but I find with Declan I am. Though I tell myself to chill out, there’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to cover that bitch with honey and stake her over the nearest mound of fire ants in the backyard.

A quick glance at Rachael assures me she’s in good hands, and after checking to make sure the guard is going to take her to her room so she can rest, I head into the sitting room. Magic is sizzling along my nerve endings—the first time that’s ever happened to me when someone wasn’t dead or dying—and I flex my fingers a few times in an effort to keep it under control. Inside me, the darkness gathers a little more. Throbs a little more in its bid for attention.

Once again, I shove it back down. After all, Declan doesn’t look all that happy to see her, whoever she is. . . .

I’ve only taken a few steps when Declan catches sight of me. It could be wishful thinking, but I’m pretty sure the look that just flitted across his face is relief. Thank God. I’m not normally an insecure girlfriend, but considering who Declan is and the fact that I don’t even know how to classify our relationship yet, a little insecurity seems pretty understandable. Still, he’s here with me, not her, and I have better things to do than worry about some woman whose name I don’t even know.

“How’s your father?” he asks, climbing awkwardly to his feet. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him be less than supremely graceful and it raises a warning flag, despite the reassurances I’d just given myself.

“We don’t know yet. My aunt Tsura’s with him now.”

“Oh, you’re one of Tsura’s nieces?” The woman who’d been crowding Declan stood up as well. “I’m Irya, Tsura’s assistant.”