Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(92)

All around me, my parents’ house—the house I grew up in—has been reduced to rubble. Walls are missing, ceilings have caved in; whole chunks of floor have simply disappeared. There is colored glass everywhere from my mother’s beloved stained glass windows, and remnants of furniture block our path.

We’re almost at the front doors, or what’s left of them. Outside I can see my mother, Donovan, my aunt Tsura, my sisters. The paramedics have even managed to get my father out. Beyond them is a ring of people, members of our coven and citizens of Ipswitch, who have gathered to help . . . or simply to watch the spectacle.

My headache is getting worse and I close my eyes, trying to get control of the pain. Just a few more steps, I tell myself. A few more steps and I’ll be out of here. Once clear, I’ll make sure my family is okay and then I’ll convince Declan to go to the hospital to be checked out. I’ll go with him, let someone check me over, too. Make sure this headache isn’t a sign of anything more serious. I’m sure it isn’t, but still . . .

Declan steps through the doorway, my hand still firmly gripped in his, and I start to do the same. But that’s when it takes me over. A compulsion so powerful that I pause midstep as it winds itself around me and yanks me backward.

I stumble, start to fall.

Declan whirls around, catches me before I can hit the ground. He sweeps me into his arms despite the burns covering his upper body and heads through the door. “Are you okay?” he demands. “What happened?”

The second we make it outside, I start to scream.





Twenty-eight





Every instinct I have is telling me to hit, kick, bite, claw, to do whatever I have to do to get out of Declan’s grip and back inside the house. I have enough control not to do it—I can’t, won’t, do anything to make his pain worse—but I do struggle against him until he lets me down.

The paramedics and firemen have stopped behind us, frozen in place by what I’m sure looks like a total mental and emotional breakdown by one of the members of the royal family. But even though I can’t stop myself from screaming, I know that isn’t what’s going on. I’ve felt like this before and not once has it meant that I’m losing my grip on reality.

I dive through the paramedics, shoving and clawing my way back into the house. One of them wraps an arm around my waist and tries to stop me. I punch him in the face as Declan barks out, “Don’t touch her!”

Behind me, I can hear the confusion my insane behavior has caused. My mother is calling to me, my sisters and aunt demanding for someone to stop me. Even the crowd has gotten into the act, and I know that there will be articles and photos of me acting like a crazy woman on the front page of every Hekan newspaper in the country.

It doesn’t matter, though, because I know something they don’t. I can feel it inside me, building, building, building, as strong as anything I ever felt on the rain-slicked streets of Austin. Stronger, even, because I know—I know—that wherever this compulsion takes me, I will end up at the feet of someone who shares my blood.

There’s no way I would resist even if I could. Not now, with that certainty burning inside me. This is only the seventh time I’ve ever felt like this, but that doesn’t matter. It’s not a feeling I will ever forget.

Dread sits heavy in my stomach, on my heart, as I close my eyes and block out the frantic shouts and clutching hands of those around me. The certainty is a sickness inside me, all around me, as it wraps me up in strands of electricity and starts pulling me forward, forward, forward.

I don’t try to resist, even knowing what’s waiting at the end of the invisible rope I’m caught up in. Or maybe I don’t resist because I know. Either way, I surrender myself to the inescapable pull. Let it lead me instead of fighting it at every turn as I am wont to do.

There’s a part of me that’s aware of Declan moving beside me, his hand resting gently between my shoulder blades. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to dissuade me, but even as injured as he is, he won’t let me do this alone. There’s a part of me that wishes he would—I don’t like the person I become when the compulsion takes a hold of me, the zombielike creature fixated on only one thing. But at the same time, I understand. I couldn’t leave him alone as he burned, as he faced down his demons. There’s no way my big, strong, alpha warlock will ever leave me alone as I face down mine.

I’m drawn through the foyer and back up the stairs to the second-floor landing. The stairs are precarious in this section—more than one of us almost fell through on our journey down just a few minutes ago. Beside me, Declan tenses, but I don’t pay him any more mind than I do the shaky stairs. It’s as if the compulsion recognizes the danger and somehow tells me where and how to step.