Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(95)

Declan tells me that I can’t be so hard on myself. That my magic manifests how it manifests and that there is good in finding people who have been discarded, hidden, forgotten. But I don’t see it. All I see is that I’m never there in time. If I knew earlier, if I felt their suffering before it was too late, I would embrace the burden. Difficult, painful, as it is, I would deal with it. Because there is something valuable in being able to save a life, in being able to stop it from ending prematurely.

But this—this ridiculous compulsion that draws me to mangled and abused bodies, that has me reliving the person’s dying moments, is no gift. It’s a nightmare, one that gets worse every time I endure it.

And now, with Hannah. Knowing that she cried for help. Knowing that she cried for me to save her before she died . . . I can’t bear it.

There’s a commotion behind us and I look up just in time to see my mother—my regal, always-in-control, always-aware-of-her-duty-to-her-subjects mother, screaming my sister’s name as she scrabbles over the piles of rubble. Tsura is with her, and though she lays a restraining hand on my mother’s arm, my mom doesn’t seem to notice. She just shrugs it off and keeps scrambling over the debris as she tries to get to Hannah.

“Mom, stop.” I croak out the words. “It’s too late.”

I can see from her face—from the way she looks at me—that she already knows the truth. She knows what my power is, knows that it was too late the moment I could sense my sister’s distress. And yet she can’t go there, can’t—

At that moment, the rescue crew manages to unearth the upper half of my sister’s body. Even though I know what’s coming, it’s a shock to me—her eyes wide open, her mouth frozen in a silent scream, tear tracks still damp on her cheeks.

My mother takes one look at her and falls to her knees, starts to scream. Tsura grabs onto her, turns my mother’s face into her chest and rocks her much as Declan is rocking me.

I watch as my mother collapses into her sister, her body shuddering with sobs. I try to push away from Declan, to stand so that I can make my way over to her, but the moment his arms fall from around me, the nausea returns tenfold.

The room spins, and then suddenly I’m on my knees again, vomiting up what feels like my stomach lining. Declan pulls my hair back, holds me, but even his touch can’t make the sickness go away.

This time I don’t think anything can.





Twenty-nine





It’s been a long night, maybe the longest of my life.

I spend most of it sitting next to Declan’s bed. Watching him heal a little bit more with each hour that passes. We’ve moved to my family’s ranch, about ten miles outside of Ipswitch. My dad originally bought the land—which surrounds Ipswitch on all sides—for safety reasons. When Texas started developing a couple hundred years ago, he didn’t want to have to worry about human towns springing up too close to our borders.

About twenty years ago, he built a house on the land for our family. Protected by the most powerful Hekan charms in existence and under constant surveillance by my parents’ security, it still provides us with a lot more privacy than the house in town does. Did. For years now, he and my mother have used it a couple of times a year as a kind of retreat. Now, however, it’s become the seat of our coven’s government. The home of the royal family.

I wanted Declan to go to the hospital in town, but he insisted on coming here instead. He told me it was because he didn’t like hospitals, but I know the truth. It’s because he wanted me here, surrounded by security, safe. Or at least as safe as I can be right now.

He stirs in his sleep, moans a little, and I stroke a soothing hand over his hair. Murmur a few words to him. At the sound of my voice, he settles back into sleep. And I get up from the armchair I’ve been sitting in for the last eight hours.

I cross to the window that overlooks the pastures and horse barns. Normally, it’s so dark out here that you can see every star in the sky. But tonight, the whole area is lit up. Jared has rolled in security troops by the dozen to ensure that the house—and, more importantly, my family—are secure. Or as secure as we can be right now.

As I look out over the land, I relive every second of the day. Of the last few days. And wonder what I could have done differently. I’d do anything, give anything, to have a different outcome than the one I’m living.

Declan, badly burned. Hannah, dead. My father gravely ill and not responding to treatment. My family in shambles. My coven in chaos.

I’m so sick with sorrow and anger that I can barely breathe. Barely think. The darkness is creeping up on me, getting worse with each impotent moment that passes. There’s a part of me that wants to fight it, but it’s a small part. Because there’s strength in the darkness. There’s control and power and action. And right here, right now, I want to embrace all of those things.