Bethany's Rite (12 page)

Quickly, Shyrana removed the needle and placed a bandage
over the prick marks. When Bethany pulled her arm away this time, he let her.
She held her arm to her stomach and covered the bandage with her other hand,
pressing against it. The little color remaining in her face quickly drained
away.

Her reaction worried Wyc. He looked at Shyrana for an
explanation. It didn’t make him feel any better to see concern deeply etched on
his sister’s beautiful face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just a side effect. It stings some
when injected.”

Bethany pressed against the point where the needle had gone
in. Sting some, her ass. It was burning like liquid fire being poured through
her veins. She could track the progress of the medicine as the inferno spread
from her arm to her shoulder.

Damn. She couldn’t just sit here and think about it. She had
to get her mind off what was happening, or she was going to faint from the pain
blasting a path under her skin.

“Does everyone in your family turn into cats when they get
mad?” she asked between clenched teeth.

“What?”

Wyc looked at her like she had just blurted gibberish. She
didn’t care. Hoped he got angry. She was in the mood to fight, thanks to the
solar flare that just erupted in her chest.

“Cats. Do they all turn into those big, black, damn cats
like you do?”

Wyc shook his head distractedly and reached for her hand.
She thought he was going to hold her hand as an offer of comfort. Instead, he
took her pulse.

“No,” he said, “Our powers were fractured by the curse,
leaving us all with different abilities.”

“Like what?” She pulled her hand back and wrapped her arms
around her stomach, doing her best not to double over and roll out of the chair
and onto the floor.

“You’ll have to ask them.”

When she glared at him, he shrugged.

“It’s not my place to reveal their secrets, just as I
wouldn’t reveal yours to them.”

She blinked and tried to clear the tiny black spots that
were starting to dance in front of her eyes. “I don’t have any secrets.”

Wyc’s grin was tense. “Sure you do. And each time I take you
to bed, I discover more.”

Damn man. How could he think of sex at a time like this? He
better have a good memory, because after this little stunt, he’d be building
snowmen in hell before
discovering
more of her secrets.

Another wave of fire shot through her body, this time
reaching to her toes. She hissed and hunched her shoulders. “What happened to
the Predator that gave me the drug? Did you kill him?”

“Yes.” His answer was curt, harsh. She looked up to see
brutal rage wash over his features.

“Did you bring him with us? I’d like a chance to take an ice
pick to his body.”

“No, I left him in your bathtub.”

Despite the pain, Bethany shot straight up out of the chair.
“You did what? Damn it! What if my landlord checks on my apartment while I’m
gone? He’ll find a dead alien in my bathroom and I’ll never be able to get my
apartment back, not to mention my deposit. You owe me two hundred bucks.”

Wyc leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes flashing with
dangerous emotion. “Once a Predator is dead, his body dissolves if placed in
water. Like ours does when placed in the ground. Theirs is just a much faster
process. And you’re not going back to that apartment, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Well, I sure as hell am not going to Ilyria with you.” She
took a step toward him to punctuate her comment and walked right into a wall of
white flame. She gasped and closed her eyes against the agony. Her skin started
stinging like an army of biting insects had been let loose underneath it. She
pitched forward with a cry, her fingernails scraping at her neck and arms.

Wyc caught her up in his arms before she had a chance to hit
the floor. “Shy! What the hell’s going on? Bethany, are you all right?”

Bethany couldn’t unclench her teeth to force an answer out.

Shyrana’s soft voice floated across her skin, “Side effects.
Nothing permanent. It will ease soon. From my experience, the stronger the
bloodline, the stronger the reaction.”

“Shit.” With Bethany in his arms, Wyc strode into the living
room. “As far as we know, she’s damn near a hundred percent Mystic. That’s why
she was matched on her first birthday.” He sat on the couch, holding her on his
lap.

She was having a difficult time focusing. Her cheeks stung
like someone had stubbed out lit cigars on them. “It burns,” she whispered and
twisted in his arms, trying to get her shirt off. Her entire body was being
consumed by the inferno.

Wyc put a hand to her face, her hands. “You’re as cold as ice,
babydoll. Just hang on to me. It’ll be over soon.”

She tried to writhe out of his embrace. “Let go. My skin is
on fire. Like fire ants biting. Crawling around inside. Chewing their way out.”

She snatched at her clothes again and Wyc grabbed her hands.
She started to shake uncontrollably.

“If this is your cure,” she spat, “I’d rather take my
chances with the Predators.” A fierce shudder racked her body, and she strained
against him. Curses flew from her mouth as she jerked against him.

“I swear, Wyc Kilth, if I make it through this, you’re a
dead man. Or a dead alien. Or panther thing.” She gasped and bowed up in his
arms. “Oh God. It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair. “So sorry.” He
held her firmly to his body and rocked her gently even as she continued to
fight and curse him.

Bethany scratched at her skin, leaving long, angry red marks
down the inside of her right arm. Wyc pulled her flush to his chest and pinned
her hands between their bodies, keeping her from tearing at herself again.

She tried to hold back her tears, pull away from the comfort
Wyc offered. Focus on the anger and not the pain. But she hurt. And damn it,
she wanted to be held.

Bethany buried her face against his neck and stopped
cursing. He felt her hot tears as they fell to his skin. It ripped his heart
out and he wished she’d go back to screaming at him. He’d rather have her
threaten him to hell and back than cry.

He wished he hadn’t been so fast to kill the Predator that
drugged her. He should have tortured that bastard. Would have, if he had known
this was going to happen. But given the choice, he still would have given her
the antidote rather than take the chance of her receiving the second dose that
could have put her in the hands of the Sleht.

“I hate this, Wyc.”

“I know. I do too.” He smoothed a hand over her head and
down her back to cup her hip. She felt so good under his hands. He held her
close and used all his mental powers to soothe her until her sobs stilled and
she sagged against him. She used his shirt to wipe her face.

“It’s better. You can let go of me now.”

He kissed her ear. “Give me a minute here.” Adjusting her
body to fit her hip snugly against his groin, he wrapped his arms around her
and just held her.

The portal was still weeks from opening. He didn’t like the
time frame. Any day here rather than tucked away safely in his home was one too
many. The Sleht couldn’t force an unwilling victim through a portal. No one
could. Though at the rate she kept telling him she wasn’t going with him, it would
make things a hell of a lot easier if he
could
just tie her up and drag
her kicking and screaming back to their homeworld.

The only good thing about having to wait for the gateway to
open was having a little time to convince her to change her mind. And she would
change it. He’d use whatever means he had to make sure that his mate stayed
with him. He’d bind her to him physically and emotionally.

There was only the final part of the Matching Ritual left to
be completed. The Mating Rite, where she had to accept him willfully as her
mate with their rings in place, give verbal assent to their union and take him
into her body. And once the Mating Rite was finished, he’d be tied to her
mentally as well.

A full telepath like Amdyn would share a direct link with
his mate enabling them both to read each other’s minds after completing the
Matching Ritual. He and Bethany would be able to send and sense each other’s
specific emotions, but not fully see into each other’s minds like his cousin
and his mate would. He already had some ability in that area due to his
training and the fact that she was his mate. But once they finished the ritual,
they would be connected on a much deeper level and Bethany would be able to
reach out to his mind as well.

Bethany shifted in his lap, stirring his desire with her
movement. She swiped her hand across her face, erasing the last vestige of her
tears.

“I’m still hungry,” she said.

Wyc smiled and gave her a quick squeeze before setting her
on her feet. He was still hungry too, but Bethany needed to eat.

“I can get you something,” Shyrana offered. “What are you in
the mood for?”

Bethany glanced at him. He nodded. “Go on. The kitchen’s
fully stocked. I’ll check on you later. I need to go with Amdyn and inspect the
perimeter we’ve set.”

He watched her walk toward the kitchen with his sister. Shy
said something that made Bethany respond with a wobbly smile and glance over
her shoulder at him. Emotion plowed into his gut like a wrecking ball.

Much more than the possessiveness or protectiveness of
before. More even than the fierce lust that seemed to constantly consume him
when she was around. For all the barriers he had put in place around his
emotions after his brothers’ deaths and friend’s betrayal, Bethany had gained
access to the very center of his heart.

As much as he hadn’t wanted to and had tried to guard
against such a crippling emotion, he had fallen in love with his mate.

Halfway through Bethany’s second sandwich, Shyrana excused
herself with a headache and left Bethany to finish her lunch. Bethany was
swallowing her last bite when Myrra entered the kitchen with one of the men who
had burst into her bath, but who hadn’t been present earlier to be introduced
with the others. From the pale blond hair and eyes the color of blue ice, she
figured he was related to Amdyn and Cirryc, landing in age somewhere between
the two. The dazzling smile he offered in greeting failed to thaw the chill in
his gaze and had a sensual edge that made her uncomfortable.

“Nice to finally meet the famous, first-to-be-found, Mystic
daughter.” He sauntered to the table and picked up her hand, bent at the waist
and placed a kiss on her knuckles that lingered a moment too long. She jerked
her hand out of his grasp and had to choke the final bite of her sandwich down
her throat.

His smile set like cement in his face at her reaction. “I’m
Kayn, of the First House of Kilth.”

“First House of Kilth?” Bethany asked.

Myrra had stopped beside her, her stance closer to “parade
rest” than a casual deportment, as if she expected a commanding officer to
materialize at any moment and didn’t want to be caught off-guard.

“The royal family is split into five houses,” she explained,
“each descending from one of the original ruling brothers. First House, oldest
brother and so on.”

Bethany returned Kayn’s visual inspection. His face held an
arrogance not evident in the other royal heirs she’d met, and he wore his hair
shorter than every other man except Jordyn. He pulled out a chair, spun it
around and straddled it to face her.

“I’m curious,” he said, stacking his arms on the back of the
chair, “what do you remember about your sisters?”

“Nothing.”

Myrra raised her eyebrows, but didn’t comment. Kayn shook
his head and propped his clefted chin on his thumb.

“Nothing at all? I find that hard to believe.”

“I didn’t even know I had sisters until Wyc told me. I’m
still not completely convinced I do. This whole situation is a little out of
normal for me.” That wasn’t completely true. She did believe she had sisters.
She just wasn’t willing to admit it to others. Afraid that if she spoke her
hope out loud, it would be crushed under the weight of her own expectations.
Just because she was willing to claim sisterhood with strangers didn’t mean
they’d be willing to do the same.

She twisted the ring around her finger until she could read
the lettering embedded in the design.

It was on her right hand. She had always worn it on her
left. With a frown, she transferred it back to her left hand. When she looked
up, Kayn was watching her movements closely and seemed amused by what she had
done.

“You’ve got to have some memory of something,” he said.
“Think. It’s important.”

She glared at him. After having her insides so recently
scorched raw by the anti-Predator drug, she was in no mood to entertain an
interrogation. She shoved her chair back from the table and stood.

“I know it’s important. Don’t you think I’ve racked my
brain, trying to come up with even a glimmer of a memory that could help find
the other women before the Predators do?” She plowed her fingers through her
hair, dislodging her ponytail. With a rough pull, she yanked the rubber band
completely out.

Kayn cocked an eyebrow at her. “Perhaps you should try
harder.”

Bethany bit her tongue, refusing to defend herself to this
asshole. Relative to Wyc or not, he had a serious chip on his shoulder.
However, she didn’t put it there, and it wasn’t her responsibility to remove
it.

His large body unfolding in a deliberate, unhurried motion,
Kayn rose from his chair, turned it around and pushed it under the table.
Placing his hands on the top rung of the chair back, he leaned heavily over it,
his shoulders hunched. Deep grooves furrowed the sides of his mouth.

“You’re only the first of the four sisters we’ve been
looking for. Time is running out. Maybe you should spend more time ‘racking
your brain’,” he repeated her words back to her with a venomous mocking, “and
less time fucking.”

Bethany’s head jerked back as if she had been dealt a
physical blow. Myrra bit out a harsh exclamation in a language Bethany didn’t
recognize.

Kayn straightened and fixed his attention on Wyc’s captain.
“You of all people should know how distracted Wyc has been since we found her.
His decisions are weighted against the entire mission in favor of her safety.
The only thing he cares about now is getting between her legs and—”

“Enough!” Myrra’s voice echoed off the windows and cabinets.
The air crackled around Myrra with the promise of sure and final retribution
for transgression, and one look at her would relieve anyone’s doubt that she
was fully capable of delivering on that promise, well and quickly. Suddenly,
Bethany had an instant appreciation for why Wyc had chosen her to captain his
personal guard. The woman could be downright frightening. Bethany had met
three-hundred-pound biker-bar bouncers less intimidating.

The effect was not lost on Kayn. His eyes flashed in fury,
but he clamped his lips together and stalked from the room without another
word.

Silence followed his exit, settling like an itchy, wet wool
blanket, coarse and heavy against sensitive skin. Myrra turned to face her. The
emanation of power that had shimmered around her had dimmed, but was still very
much in evidence. Fleetingly, Bethany wished she had stuck with her karate
lessons for longer than a month.

“I make no apologies for Kayn,” Myrra stated, her back and
expression stiff, “he will have to expiate his own actions. However, it might
benefit you to know that his grudge is not personal. Wyc had two younger
brothers, twins, who were good friends of Kayn’s. He took their deaths hard.”

“Wyc’s brothers died? What happened?”

Myrra shook her head. “A close friend of Wyc’s betrayed
them. Kayn holds Wyc guilty by association.”

“Was the traitor caught?”

“He died from wounds he received in the trap set for Wyc’s
brothers. Kayn was the one who found him.”

Bethany tried to comprehend losing two brothers, a friend
and a family member’s trust in one moment. She couldn’t. “How do you know Wyc’s
friend wasn’t ambushed as well?”

Myrra’s lips pursed slightly, as if Bethany were questioning
her ability to interpret a combat situation. “The proof was irrefutable.”

“You said, found
him
. Kayn didn’t find Wyc’s
brothers?”

“The Sleht take the bodies of any royal heir back to their
capital for desecration before sending the pieces back to the family.”

The sandwiches in Bethany’s stomach pitched and rolled,
making a valiant effort to exit the same way they had entered. “So Kayn
automatically hates me because I’m Wyc’s mate?”

“The twins were under Wyc’s charge when they were murdered.
He had left them behind to pursue a lead on your location.”

The air Bethany had been struggling to drag into her lungs
froze. Sorrow, so sharp she could feel the shards of it pierce her heart, held
her immobile in its contracting grip.

“The price paid for your return has been high,” Myrra said.

Bethany crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin,
hurt and defensive, but hoping the gesture appeared defiant. “Not my choice.”

“And now?”

“Now what?”

Myrra’s voice dropped, and she stepped closer. “How much
more sacrifice are you going to demand Wyc pay?”

Bethany’s eyebrows winged up toward her hairline. She
couldn’t have been more surprised if Myrra had told her that she’d turn into a
pumpkin at midnight. “I’m not demanding anything.”

“You should know, his duty to his people is his life.
Everything—and everyone—ranks far below that commitment.”

“He explained the Matching Ritual. I know why he had to find
me.”

“He was duty-bound to search for you. But had you stayed
lost, he would have been eventually free to return to Ilyria and take a mate of
his own choosing.”

The words struck Bethany like a sledgehammer slammed into
her gut. “I was under the impression that neither of us had a choice. That the
Guardians were permanent.”

Myrra frowned. A slight pulling together of perfect brows
over perfectly blue eyes. “The time attached to each Guardian varies with the
spell. A matched heir is obligated to search for his mate only until one of
them is dead, or the Guardian spell ends with the completion of the Matching
Ritual or the fulfillment of days.”

“And the spell that binds Wyc to me?” Breathe. Steady. Nice
and normal. In, out. In, out.

Myrra paused. Looked away. When she brought her eyes back to
Bethany’s, they glinted like burnished blue steel, hard and unreadable. “Wyc’s
required time was nearly up when he found you.”

“And if he hadn’t found me?” Through sheer force of will,
Bethany kept her voice level and ignored the panic rapidly expanding within
her. “I thought he had to marry a Mystic.”

Myrra gave nothing away with her inscrutable expression. She
merely blinked and tilted her head to the side. “There are other Mystics on
Ilyria. Ones who understand its history, laws and traditions. Ones who would
unflinchingly accept the demands and needs of a sovereign.”

Bethany narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to tell me
something?”

“No. Not trying. I am telling you. By the rites performed at
the Matching Ritual, Wyc is bound by honor to take you as his mate.” Her
measuring gaze traveled over Bethany in one long, critical sweep. “Be worth
it.”

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Wyc’s voice coming out of the darkening twilight made
Bethany jump. She turned to see him materialize from the shadows and climb the
stairs to the back porch.

“Does everyone in your family relish scaring the hell out of
me?” She kicked at the planked floor, sending the porch swing into motion.

He crossed the porch to her and stopped the swing. The
chains holding it to the porch’s rafters screeched in protest and the wooden
slats groaned under his weight when he lowered himself to sit beside her.

“Who scared you?”

She shrugged. “Kayn. He did the same melt-from-the-shadows
move.”

“What did he want?” Wyc asked, his nonchalant tone not
fooling her. Not when the muscles at the side of his jaw bunched.

“Not much. We had a misunderstanding earlier, and he wanted
to make sure it was all straightened out.” That was pretty close to the truth.
He had, more or less, apologized for his outburst.

Wyc held her eyes for a beat. “And is it? All straightened
out?”

“Yes.” She dug in her front pocket and pulled out a small
folding knife. “He gave me this.” She pushed the silver button in the middle,
and the blade popped out. Wyc took it from her and looked it over. Fully
extended, the knife was just under eight inches, made of ebony and silver with
a mother-of-pearl inlay on one side of the casing.

“He does that. Gives little gifts.” He pressed the flattened
edge against his palm and snapped the knife closed. “You’re not planning on
trying to cut out your Guardian again, are you?”

“No.” She grabbed it and stuck it back into her pocket.

“So what are you doing, just sitting?” he asked.

“Thinking.”

Bethany wrapped her arms around herself. Still early fall,
the afternoon air had been crisp and cool. Perfect, if she had cared. But the
temperature had dropped since she had been sitting here, thinking about what
she had learned from Myrra.

Up until now, she had only considered the situation from her
viewpoint. Too caught up in how her life had changed and what it all meant to
her to worry about anyone else. She hadn’t once thought what Wyc, or any of the
others for that matter, might have surrendered in order to keep their
people—and hers—alive.

Wyc started to put his arm around her, but stopped and
picked up her hand, staring at her ring.

“I put this on your right hand.”

“I moved it.”

“It belongs on your right hand.”

“I always wore it on my left.”

“Not anymore.” He started to pull it off her finger, but she
curled her fingers into a fist so he couldn’t.

“I want it on my left. What difference does it make?”

His eyes narrowed and he pried her fingers open. “You wear
the ring on your right hand to show that you belong to me.”

The desire for that exact thing flooded her without warning.
The need to fit in as old an ache as the number of years she had been bounced
around from family to family. She didn’t want to deal with that now. She was
tired, and her emotions were already strung too tight to think straight.

She tugged her hand away. “A perfectly good reason for me to
wear it on my left. I don’t belong to anyone.”

Shaking her head, she pushed away from him. When his arms
wrapped back around her, she glared at him and said, “You don’t own me.”

Wyc sighed and gently tucked her close to his side. “So what
were you thinking about out here all alone?”

She hesitated. Not sure how to ask Wyc about his brothers,
the other Mystics he’d soon be free to choose a mate from or whether the
sacrifices he had made to find her were worth the price. She didn’t know how to
ask, or even if she should. She didn’t know if she wanted to hear the answers.
Shutting down the feelings that reeled in her chest like manic acrobats, she
shrugged.

“Nothing,” she replied. “And everything.”

He lifted her face with a knuckle under her chin to look
into her eyes. He searched, but Bethany stared impassively back at him, having
locked away any emotion that would give the turmoil in her heart away.

He brushed at the shadows under her eyes. “You should be
resting. That antidote put a heavy stress on your body.” He ran his fingers
through her hair, combing it back from her face. The gentleness of his touch
nearly undid her decision to allow him access to her body only, and not her
heart.