Enchanter's Echo (42 page)

The senator bowed his head briefly. “Yes, our condolences on your loss. Senator Casteel will be missed by a great many.”

But not the many Rallises. “Thank you. My father is, of course, stepping up to take his place at the Rushes.”

“When does he plan to do that, Miss Casteel? It’s been three weeks.” Edmund’s voice was perfect for taking over the family’s Senate seat someday. Clear, enunciated, and with just the right pitch. He looked enough like Vincent for one to recognize they were brothers, but not to guess they were twins. Edmund’s features blended into a handsome sophistication. His dark hair waved across his forehead over blue eyes. A perfect nose complimented his concerned, friendly smile, and his shoulders were broad enough to carry the weight and responsibilities of the medallion. She’d heard he was a mage of considerable power, like the rest of his family. She couldn’t sense it for herself, but it was common knowledge that Nons avoided the entire area surrounding the estate, unable to tolerate the Rallis clan’s collective vibes. The Nons’ ancient instincts recognized a greater power and, therefore, a danger to their lives. It was hard for Nons to resist the need to flee, or worse, to fight.

“Lord Casteel plans to take the Senate seat soon, but there is a problem.” Bronte faced the senator. “I’m here to ask for your help.”

“Help with what, Bronte?” His gruff, hoarse words came from behind her, accompanied by a flood of vibes.

She wouldn’t have recognized his voice except for that energy pouring into her. She wrenched around in her seat to see the lion prowl out of the shadows.

His gaze targeted her like she was prey that might escape. “Tell us how we can help you. And then you can explain why you ran away from me.”

Her mind recorded him like a pencil scratching away at paper to save his image—his dark hair clipped short, eyebrows that formed stark lines with a skeptical bent near their ends. A crease pulled between his brows that hadn’t been there before. His rugged face had weathered storms his brother had avoided. Those storms had chiseled away any softness.

She closed her eyes, stopping the mental sketching—a necessity to save her sanity. She turned her whole body back toward the senator and only opened her eyes when she knew Vincent wasn’t in her line of sight.

“Vin!” Happy surprise colored every note of the senator’s voice. “How long have you been standing back there? Your energy is so subdued I didn’t even sense you until now.”

“I didn’t either.” Edmund’s voice was equally surprised. “Miss Casteel, your beauty has distracted us.”

Bronte fought to keep her calm mask intact. Her heart boomed like the senator’s voice and threatened to shake that mask right off her face. She couldn’t let that happen. Diplomatic words and composure were her only weapons in this battle, a quick escape her only viable strategy. She stood, one move closer to getting to the door. At her cue, all the men stood as well.

The closer Vincent came, the more his energy reached out to her. It touched her, filled her in places she’d forgotten were empty. Dangerous memories spilled back. If she knew how, she’d dump his vibrations out of her hidden vessel, turn it over, and sit on it like a metal bucket until it sank into the dirt with the force of her weight. She’d seal her hollow spaces shut and keep him out forever. To do otherwise would only invite death to creep close.

Vincent strode toward her.

She held her ground and looked him in the eye. “I do not need your help. I am simply the messenger. Here on behalf of the Casteels.” She cleared her throat to try again and turned to the senator. “Senator Rallis, my family requests your assistance.”

The senator’s wise gaze locked on Vincent, his expression thoughtful and full of silent words Bronte lacked the power to hear. Curiosity lit the dark depths of his gaze as they landed back on her.

Vincent leaned toward her. “And they sent you as their messenger?” His voice was soft, a caress against her skin. “The most vulnerable and weakest of them all, to fight their battles.”

“I am not weak.” She risked a quick glance at him. “I have plenty of strength to fight whatever battles I need to.” She bit her tongue to stop her aggressive tone. Arguing would not help her cause.

“Vincent, you are making our guest uncomfortable.” The senator’s tone went quiet. Deadly. The boom was much safer, she realized.

“No, I’m not. At least not with my vibes, Granddad.” Vincent’s reply was matter-of-fact. He held all the power between them, and he was going to use it. Running for the door would not help her now.

“My mage vibes do not make her uncomfortable.”

Her hold on her tongue wasn’t tight enough to stop her gasp. She’d messed up. Goddess, but she’d messed up. She closed her eyes for a moment at the realization. Instead of drinking Vincent in, she should have faked a reaction to his power, imitated the jittery anxiousness Nons felt around a mage who wasn’t suppressing his energy. Maybe that would have saved her.

“Vincent. She’s a Non. Of course you’re making her uncomfortable.” The senator’s reprimand was deceptively soft.

Bronte stared at Vincent as desperation swirled inside her. “Please. Don’t.”

“She’s not a Non.” Vincent’s words shattered her hope of escape.