Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(96)

Is this what Declan feels? I wonder. When he performs his magic? When he walks in the shadows? Is this what it feels like? If so, I don’t blame him for embracing it. For craving it. I know the dangers, know how easy it is to be seduced. And still I want to give in. To take the vengeance that is due to me and mine.

There’s a soft knock on the door and my aunt Tsura pokes her head in. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s sleeping. I slipped him a tranquilizer in the healing draft Rachel made him. He’s been resting pretty comfortably ever since.”

“Good girl.”

She crosses to the window, wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into her embrace. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.” I shrug off the concern I hear in her voice. I’m not the one she needs to be worrying about right now. “How are Mom and Dad?”

Tears glaze her green eyes, and she looks away. Takes a moment to compose herself. “There’s been no change in your father’s condition. He isn’t getting any worse, which is good. But he’s not getting any better, either, no matter what I try.”

“And Mom?”

“I slipped her a tranquilizer, too. She’s a wreck. Not that I blame her. Losing Hannah like that. Maybe losing your father.” She sighs heavily. “Your mother is the strongest woman I know, but what happened today is enough to break anybody.”

I nod because I know exactly what she’s saying. I feel more than a little bit broken myself.

“Why don’t you take a break? Go downstairs and get something to eat. The housekeeper made some soup. It’ll do you good.”

“I don’t want to leave him alone.”

“I know. That’s why I came up. I’ll sit with him, do some healing while you stretch your legs. Maybe check on your mother and Rachael—I can see that you want to.”

She’s right. I do. Even more than that, though, I want to talk to my brother. See what Donovan has to say about all of this.

“Thanks.” I lean over, brush a kiss across my aunt’s cheek. She smells like lemons and spearmint, the same as always. Somehow it isn’t as comforting a combination as it usually is. But when she squeezes my arm and I feel the wave of heat where her fingers wrap around my bicep, I find myself relaxing despite myself. Which is exactly what she intends, I’m sure.

While she takes up vigil next to Declan, I slip out of the room as quietly as I can. I don’t want to be gone too long, but there’s a lot I need to cover in these next few minutes. I can’t afford to dawdle.

First stop is to look in on my mother. Rachael and Noora are in her sitting room, talking quietly. I take one look at their red noses and swollen eyes and feel the darkness grow. Feel my resolve stiffen. Whoever did this to my family is going to pay.

Next stop is the kitchen for that bowl of soup. I don’t really want it, but I’m determined to try to eat. With everything that’s happened in the last three weeks, I’ve somehow managed to lose twelve pounds—pounds I can’t afford to lose if I plan to take on the bastards who did this to my family.

And I do. Dear goddess, do I ever.

Besides, my head is back to its painful throbbing and I need something in my stomach before I pop some Advil.

Donovan walks in while I’m ladling up a bowl. I hand it to him, then pour another bowl for myself. Then grab a couple of chunks of bread from the basket sitting on the counter before sitting next to him at the breakfast bar that runs the length of the back wall.

We don’t talk as we eat. Instead, we spend the time looking out over the ranch. Down here, I can see things so much more clearly than I could on the third floor. There’s a security guard posted at every point of entry around the house—including the window where we’re currently sitting. Others are patrolling the acreage while others guard the borders from inquisitive reporters and unknown threats.

Even more are at the house in town, working with the police and firefighters to comb through what’s left of my parents’ home.

When I’ve choked down as much soup as I can—which turns out only to be a few bites—I push my bowl away, then wait for Donovan to finish his. Considering his appetite isn’t much better than mine, it only takes a couple of minutes.

He starts the conversation. “How’s your head?”

I reach up, trace gentle fingers over the golf-ball-sized bump that’s sprung up at the crown of my head. “It hurts.”

“I bet. You should let Tsura take a look at it.”

“She’s got enough to do. Besides, Declan already healed most of it.”

“Yeah, well, if it gets any worse, I want to be the first to know about it.”