Spiritbound (3 page)

He directed his gaze towards her and she flashed a weak smile.

‘That makes me so angry,’ he said to her. ‘Please tell me that was a once-off.’

‘I…um…’ Her cheeks flamed again, her ability to use her talent momentarily gone. She couldn’t tell him the truth. Nor could she come up with a fib, not with him touching her.

‘Declan?’

It was his father. Grace’s eyes met the old man’s. Nothing had changed in the preceding years. They were still full of distrust and fear.

Declan waved. ‘In a minute.’ He turned back to her, a smile in his eyes. ‘I thought about you a lot over the years. It’s good to see you again.’

Grace smiled, detecting sincerity in his words. She dared not touch his mind or even mind speak him. ‘I…er…’

‘Declan?’ His father called again more urgently, this time waving him over with vigorous movements.

Declan couldn’t avoid seeing him. He sighed loudly. ‘Excuse me. I must go. I’ll see you around.’ Declan inclined his head, smiled briefly and left her.

Grace wanted to sink into the crowd, to slink away, but for some reason she stood there like a fool in full view. It wasn’t hard to hear what Mr Mallory was saying. ‘What are you doing talking to that woman?’

She had to use her talent to hear Declan’s reply. ‘I didn’t recognise her, at first.’

‘You know your mother will have one of her turns if she hears you were flirting with her.’

‘Dad, I wasn’t flirting. I was saying hello.’

‘I forbid you to have anything to do with her, with any of that family.’

Declan nodded. ‘Dad? Dad, you know I’m a man now. I make my own decisions.’

‘Sure you do. I only meant it for the best.’

Declan cast a look over his shoulder and their eyes met. Grace turned her head away at the expression of regret she saw in them, then, unable to stop looking at him, unable to pass up the opportunity of fixing his image in her mind, she looked back.

His father put his arm over Declan’s shoulder, urging him away. ‘Don’t go against me on this. Your mother’s health wouldn’t bear it. You know how she feels.’

Declan sighed and allowed himself to be introduced to a very eligible and attractive young witch called, Mira.

A depression began to fill Grace up as she surveyed the coven crowd. There were ten witches for every warlock in the room. Declan had a vast array of choices for a mate. It all became too much. Her feet leapt to obey her command and she fled the room. Elena hurried after her. ‘Wait, Grace. Wait!’

Once outside, Grace sucked in the humid air. A summer Sydney night. A gentle harbour breeze.

‘You okay?’

Grace gathered her arms over her chest and hugged herself. ‘Yes.’

‘You saw him then?’

‘Yes,’ Grace answered in an emotion-laden voice. ‘Spoke to him too.’

‘That’s great.’

‘Is it? He only talked to me because he didn’t recognise me.’ Her voice caught. She’d thought their reunion would be something more than a brief encounter. A bit more meaningful and deliberate than mistaken identity.

Elena put her arms around her. ‘I know how you feel, Grace. I always have.’

‘You do? Well, that’s interesting. I don’t know how I feel about any of it.’

‘Yes, you do. He is your soul mate.’

Grace’s head jerked back. ‘He can’t be,’ she said. ‘His family hates me and there’re so many other witches who are way prettier than me. I wouldn’t even register, not with the taint, not with the shadow of necromancy following me. You forget he was there. It’s real to him, not a rumour.’

‘That was so long ago. I’m sure it wouldn’t weigh with him now.’

‘You know, he stood up for me. He snubbed Rose Mason. I don’t get it.’

Elena laughed. ‘I’m so glad. I’m glad he feels the injustice of their treatment of you. I knew he was a gentleman.’

‘You’re so confident. You talked to him, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, we used to be good mates.’

Grace snorted and folded her arms. She heard a bus’s engine straining in the traffic and the toots of horns, then a siren. It had seemed so peaceful before.

Elena patted her on the back. ‘I know there are other witches, but there is only one you.’

Grace snorted. ‘Oh, that’s sweet, but you’re delusional.’

Elena jerked her thumb over her shoulder. ‘Shall we go home?’

‘No. I can’t face it.’ Grace pointed in the other direction. ‘Let’s walk along the harbour shore. I need some sea energy to clear my head.’

‘Sure, that sounds good.’

Grace hooked arms with Elena and they headed down Mort Street to look at the bay. Harbour lights bathed the dark water like stars, but they did little to soothe the hurt or Grace’s confusing array of emotions. Declan wasn’t worth thinking about. She should let sleeping warlocks lie and be done with it. With a heavy sigh, she realised she had passed the moment she had both longed for and dreaded for nearly nine years, and survived.

***

Declan tried to concentrate on the witches he was introduced to, but his gaze kept returning to the spot where she had stood. It was as if he could still see her, feel her presence. That ghost of hers that had haunted him since he’d left Sydney so long ago.

‘This is Freya, Declan. Declan?’ His father elbowed him.

Declan brought his head round. ‘Sorry. It’s been a long day. Jet lag and all that.’ That wasn’t a complete lie. He was still adjusting to the new time zone. He could have spelled himself, but then again he’d miss the slow glide into his new life.

Freya was short and well-rounded, with an open face full of freckles. ‘I’m pleased to meet the famous Declan Mallory.’

Declan’s smile froze. His parents had been telling everyone who stood still long enough that he was a champion battle mage. His father saw his look. ‘I’m not famous really.’ He coughed. ‘Er…Dad. There’s Mum. Oh dear, she looks tired. Why don’t you check on her?’

His father took the hint.

‘I’m sorry about that. I have proud parents who tend to embellish my accomplishments.’

Freya smiled. ‘You’re too modest. Most of us have read about your exploits. You know, home boy in a foreign place and all that.’ She moved a bit closer and her smile widened.

‘Did you really battle against members of a dark coven in York?’

His cheeks burnt. ‘I was involved in that skirmish. Nothing major.’ He felt like a prize bull on display. It had been this way the whole night, women sizing him up as if he were their last meal.

‘Nothing major?’ She flapped a hand. ‘Well it’s nice to know we have someone like you around if there is any trouble. Although, we only have one dark witch in the north to worry about. Not a whole coven.’

He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Exactly.’

She rubbed up against him. ‘So, I’m free if you’re interested in spending some time together. We have a great house along the Georges River. Pool, games room, lots of privacy.’ She angled her body so he could see her cleavage. She was a buxom woman, and lusty too, if the energy he detected radiating off her was a sign.

‘That’s a lovely invitation.’

She ran her hand down his forearm and she sent a potent blast of lust at him. ‘I’m serious, Declan. I can be a lot of fun, if you know what I mean.’

‘I do.’ He coughed, feeling a bit hot. It had been a while since he’d indulged and despite Freya’s overtures, which he found off-putting, he couldn’t help but respond to the lust-laden thrust she sent at him. He swallowed thickly as the image of her naked formed in his mind, with mounds of white flesh being squeezed and jostling during the sex act. He lifted his eyebrows. Freya was full on.

Looking around, he saw his father waving. ‘Please excuse me, Freya. We need to leave now. My mother is not well.’

‘Sure.’ She lifted a hand and waved. ‘See you around, gorgeous.’ He glanced back over his shoulder and caught her checking out his butt. He bolted, thankful for the excuse to leave. The night had turned into a bit of an emotional grind. The unexpected and unearned adoration irked him to the core. As he scanned the room as they left he realised that there weren’t that many warlocks around but there were lots of witches. No wonder he was being treated like a trophy bride. There was no way for him to pursue a woman, because they were all bent on pursuing him. Life in Britain hadn’t been like this. He’d had affairs, even though his main focus was study, but never was it dished out to him in this fashion.

He reached his father. ‘What is she talking about,
famous
?’ he said grumpily. He had to nip that in the bud if he could.

‘It’s nothing.’ His father supported his mother by the elbow. ‘Can you help?’ His mother was in a faint so Declan supported her from the other side. Someone probably said something that upset her.

‘Look,’ Declan said, giving his father the eye over his mother’s head. ‘It didn’t sound like nothing. I wish you wouldn’t tell people things about me. Let me make my own way.’ His parents had returned a year earlier than he had, as he’d been teaching at the college and wanted to complete the year. Now he saw what a mistake that had been. There was a practically a cheer squad waiting for him.

They reached the car and they assisted his mother onto the seat and shut the door. His father swung round, an embarrassed smile on his face. He shrugged. ‘We might have mentioned that you excelled in battle magic…er…won a few combats.’

Declan stood stock-still. ‘You didn’t.’ Hitting his palm against his forehead, he added, ‘You didn’t exaggerate, did you?’

His father’s head tilted to one side. ‘Maybe just a tad.’

‘Great.’ No wonder the women were fawning all over him. All except Grace, who was rather put out, if anything, by their encounter. He didn’t need fake idolatry, but real friendships. While that wasn’t impossible, now his parents had made it a whole lot harder.

‘I’ll walk home. Okay?’

‘Come on, Dec. Don’t be like that.’

‘I need some air. It’s not far. I like walking.’

His father started the car and backed down the driveway.

Declan walked into the hall, ignoring the women who tried to catch his eye and their overzealous mothers, some which stood in his way. She wasn’t there. He excused himself and launched himself out the front door.

There was no one lingering outside. He knew she’d gone. The scent of the sea washed over him. He’d take a walk along the harbour. He could almost smell her perfume in the air. As he walked along, his thoughts whirled. Grace. Grace, whose memory had stayed with him all those years…her dark eyes, fathomless, deep, and yet, warm. Her smile, rich. Her humour, infectious. He’d not forgotten her.

He sat on the grass, watching the harbour lights playing on the water and the shadows of a ferry making its way to Circular Quay. Letting out a sigh, he realised that Grace had not forgotten him either, which was interesting, considering she hadn’t sent out any lures and had acted as if she were indifferent to him. Despite that, she knew how long to the day he’d been gone. That told him a different story. She cared, or at least she had.

He didn’t think coming home would be like this—causing his emotions to whirl and writhe. He thought he knew what he wanted, where he wanted to be. His family meant a lot to him. They’d suffered enough.

He climbed to his feet and wandered home. His mother would worry until she saw him. You’re the only light in my life, my son, she’d say every day. Still did.

When he walked through the door, she turned her head, the lines of worry leaving her brow and mouth. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said in a weak voice. ‘Just tired now.’ She put her cup of tea on the bench and came forward. ‘So did you meet any interesting witches tonight?’

His father walked in from the living room. ‘Oh, he met plenty,’ his father chimed in before Declan could answer.

Declan chuckled at his father’s enthusiasm. His parents talked about the witches he’d met, about their families and their connections. His eyes rolled up. He knew they were keen to see him settle down, see him choose a mate and reproduce right away. He’d have to break it to them gently that he had other plans, wanted to take his time. Then he noticed there was one woman they didn’t speak about.
Grace
. Someone they’d never approve of being his mate, or of him even talking to her. Her being a supposed necromancer was one big part of it. Her being the daughter of Elvira Denholm was the other. He wasn’t sure of the history between the two families. He’d been allowed to associate with Grace when he was young, mostly because he was too energetic to keep in the house and his father had allowed it to smooth relations in the coven. He’d seen Grace almost daily—until that dreadful incident. Now he was back and the old prejudice lingered. He’d have to work the truth out of his parents. Besides general talk about bad blood, dark magic and necromancy, nothing specific had ever been mentioned in his hearing, but he guessed there was more to it.

‘Up for a nightcap?’ his father asked.

‘No, thanks. I’m going to turn in.’

His mother limped down the hall to her bedroom.

‘See you in the morning.’ His father patted him on the back, then leaned in close to whisper, ‘Don’t mention the Riordon girl to your mother. She doesn’t know she was invited—didn’t see her.’

Declan sighed. ‘Dad.’ Rather than argue, he nodded and slipped into his room.

In his bed, he found it hard to sleep. Maybe it was jet lag and maybe it was that his mind was full of thoughts, emotions and memories. It was her smile that kept hovering in his mind and the joyous sound of her laugh that echoed there. It was exquisite torture.
Grace
.

That day when she’d brought back the cat loomed large in his memory. Frightened of what she’d done, he’d bolted and told his parents. He couldn’t see that he’d done wrong in that, but the consequences were severe. After that day, he’d never seen her again.

He rolled over and punched his pillow, trying to make it fit his overgrown shoulders. The hardest and the cruellest thing he’d done that week before he’d left was to ignore her attempts at contact. He’d built a wall around himself so she couldn’t touch his mind or hear his thoughts. Perhaps in that, he had done wrong. Maybe.

As he finally drifted off to sleep, he recalled looking into the dark depths of her eyes. There had been hurt there. Lots of hurt. She’d hid it well, but he could see it.