Star-Crossed Mates (6 page)

Wolfram leaned against the desk and stared at him, deep in thought. “He doesn’t like me much, does he?”

He sounded troubled, and Klaus cursed himself for not finding a better solution. At this point, the situation in the Den had become increasingly strained, with Wolfram’s mates also showing a jealous streak. Dietrich must have suspected the previous liaison between the Magistrate and Klaus because he didn’t seem terribly surprised. At the same time, however, the man’s temper pushed away whatever reasoning led him to accept Klaus in the first place. Fritz had been drawn into it, and now, Wolfram was officially banished from the quarters he shared with his mates. Klaus had intended to explain all this to Clay, but his mate never gave him the chance.

Klaus rubbed his forehead, a heavy migraine already pounding at his skull. “Now what?”

The door of the room opened, revealing Dietrich and Fritz in the hallway. “I suppose it’s up to us to find them,” Fritz said.

“Besides,” Dietrich added, “I have a few tricks up my sleeve and know some people who might be able to help us.” Klaus must have looked confused because Dietrich clarified, “Witches. Some of us can scry and are quite talented at locating people or objects.”

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Klaus distantly recalled Dietrich’s mother had been a witch. The suggestion gave him renewed hope before a thought occurred to him.

“Why aren’t we trying to find Joseph the same way?” he inquired.

“I did try,” Dietrich replied, “but there needs to be a connection, some sort of thread for the magic to follow. My blood bond with Joseph has all but disappeared. The virus must be polluting him to such an extent that it blocks every family link I might’ve kept with him.” He gave Klaus a look full of meaning. “It will be the same for you. If your connection with the two of them is strong enough, we might be able to find them.”

Klaus didn’t put much trust into that. Their bond was already straining under the weight of their own emotion. To add the intervention of magic into it would be sheer folly.

It occurred to him someone else could help them. “There is another way,” he said. “Amy.” Amy Hart was very close to her brother. The connection between the two siblings rivaled even a mate bond. “Would it work?”

Dietrich considered the question and shook his head. “It might, but Amy has proven difficult to work with.”

So they’d already tried this with Amy and failed. Great. Just great.

“It seems to me they don’t want be found,” Fritz added unhelpfully.

As much as he wanted to be angry with them, Klaus knew they were right. “The fault lies with me,” he answered, “but the longer they’re out there alone, the more the danger increases. Joseph may be lying low now, but I think he will go after them.”

Dietrich stared at him for a few moments in silence. “Well then,”

he finally said, “I suppose the ball’s in your court. Do you think you care about them enough?”

Klaus didn’t even hesitate. “Let’s do this.”

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The next day, Klaus, Wolfram, and the Magistrate’s mates arrived in London. The thick fog made the landing of the private jet difficult, but eventually, they made it to their destination safe and sound.

Klaus was curious about this famous witch they needed to see. His idea of wise women created the picture of some old hag living in the middle of nowhere, not in one of the most famous cities of the world.

Dietrich’s friend went by the motto “hiding in plain sight.” The man—because their helper turned out to be male—owned a nightclub called The Witching Hour. Apparently, people with more unusual interests crowded here, both gay and heterosexual, making quite a statement in London’s Goth scene.

The witch himself, a man named Hewitt, welcomed them warmly.

He was a tall, drop-dead gorgeous brunet. Klaus tried but failed to guess his age. Hewitt looked in his early thirties, but talented witches could prolong their lifespan for many centuries.

Hewitt gestured them into the nightclub, closed during the day, and offered them delicious cocktails, on the house. Dietrich seemed well-known and well-liked here.

“Thanks,” Dietrich said, “but we were wondering if we could proceed with what we spoke of before.”

“You’re trying to find the young man again.” Hewitt hummed thoughtfully. “I suspected as much. I can’t promise it will work this time.” He turned toward Klaus. “Tell me, do you want to find your elusive Clay? It won’t work otherwise.”

Klaus nodded. He couldn’t figure out what words to use to convey his need to be by his mates’ sides. An increasingly ominous feeling
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shrouded his heart and mind. Ross and Clay were in danger. He just knew it.

Why did things have to be so difficult? He’d meant well when he’d left, but Clay and Ross didn’t see it that way. He now relied on Hewitt to help them find the two before it was too late.

The witch led them to a door with a sign that read “Employees Only.” Beyond, they entered something that looked like a common club storeroom. Klaus noticed boxes leaden with bottles, all holding various types of liquors. Hewitt expertly slipped between the boxes and swept his hand over the wall, murmuring an incantation under his breath. The bricks parted, revealing a secret entrance.

Hewitt led them through a small, dark tunnel into a huge, cavernous space. The top of the room seemed to go on for miles, although it could have been just a visual effect because of the detailed frescos. The domed ceiling depicted the starry night sky in the north side and a sunny day in the south.

“Different witches use different types of magic,” Hewitt explained. “Mine is the magic of the aether, stemming from a combination of sunlight and moonlight. It’s what helps me locate lost people and lost objects.”

Klaus surmised Dietrich’s magic must be different but didn’t bother to ask. He was too focused on getting the proverbial show on the road. “So, what do I have to do?”

Hewitt chuckled. “In a rush, are we?” He gestured for Klaus to sit on a wooden chair in front of a simple table. “Just sit there. I’ll tell you what’s needed.”

Klaus obeyed and waited as the witch took a scroll from a huge bookshelf. He rolled it on the table in front of them, revealing that it was, in fact, an old-fashioned map. Its edges were yellowed with age and some of the lines could no longer be made out. Klaus arched a brow, but didn’t comment.

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Hewitt then said another incantation, sweeping his hand over the map as he did so. He sat at the table on a chair opposite Klaus’s.

“Ready?” he asked Klaus.

Klaus nodded. Hewitt smiled, his eyes warm and comforting. He retrieved a small pendant from his pocket, letting it slide over the map. The witch reached out for Klaus’s hand and held it tightly, bringing it over the pendant.

“Where did you last see the young man?” Hewitt asked.

“Kiltimagh, in Ireland.”

Hewitt nodded and shifted the position of the pendant over Ireland. “Now think about the man you're looking for,” Hewitt whispered. “Think hard.”

Klaus imagined his two mates, Clay with his warm smile and generous soul, Ross with his hidden passion and righteous anger. He clung to the pain he’d experienced through them—a pain he himself had caused.

In the background, Hewitt encouraged him. “That’s it. Go deeper.

Further.”

The pendant began to shine and hover lightly against the map, as if tracking an unseen motion. It went from its current place traveling toward the main continent, its motions a bit erratic, as if it couldn’t decide where to stop.

Hewitt grimaced. “Your Clay is on the move. And there’s something else, a dark force blocking my magic. Focus. Think of a special moment you two shared.”

First, Klaus relived the moment when he’d first met Clay. He recalled the young spirit wolf kneeling in front of the Magistrate, then his wide eyes meeting Klaus’s, a shy smile on his lips. But Klaus had looked away, refusing his mate. It had been such a troubling time, plagued with fears, with the need to be by his mate’s side, overwhelmed by the desire to keep Clay safe.

The pendant continued its erratic motions, and Klaus chose the first time he and Clay had sex. He could almost see it now, Clay’s
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body moving with his, his tight channel squeezing Klaus’s cock in an iron-like vise. But the erotic experience had been shrouded by his increasing doubts, and he’d refrained from claiming Clay, ultimately leading to their separation. It didn’t surprise him when the pendant refused to fix on one spot.

He chose the moment he’d first met Ross. It didn’t help at all, the anxiety of seeing his mate turn feral, making the pendant sway wildly.

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s not helping,” Hewitt said.

Out of options and acutely aware of how little he deserved his mates, Klaus recalled the hug between Ross and Clay. He might have been left out, but even so, the emotions he’d experienced, albeit indirectly, somehow connected him to his mates.

At last, the pendant ceased its erratic swishing and fixed in one spot. Paris, France. Not the easiest city to find a feral in, but at least they had a general location.

As if guessing Klaus’s thoughts, Hewitt rolled the map and handed it to Klaus, together with the still-shining pendant. “This will guide you on your way. It works like a GPS of sorts now.”

Klaus got up, renewed decisiveness coursing through him. “Thank you,” he told Hewitt.

Hewitt nodded in acknowledgement of his words, and then his eyes turned to Dietrich. “Anything for a friend.”

Judging by Hewitt’s tone, Dietrich had been much more than a friend. Wolfram growled lowly, and Dietrich nudged his wolf mate with his elbow. “And we really appreciate the help. Don’t we, Wolfram?”

Wolfram smiled tightly. “Of course.”

It was disconcerting to see Wolfram jealous, but Klaus didn’t dwell too much on it. The strong feeling of unsettlement returned with a vengeance.

Wolfram must have sensed his urgency—well, that, and he probably wanted to get Dietrich out of Hewitt’s proximity. “We’ll be off now. Our thanks again.”

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“Certainly, Magistrate. Drop by any time. And do let me know how your search goes.”

Hewitt led them to the exit of the club and waved as they rushed off. Klaus prayed for the witch’s well-being. Ferals seemed to be everywhere these days, and he hoped Hewitt’s aid would not draw unwanted attention.

But the witch’s welfare became a side thought, and by the time they reached the airport once again, Hewitt turned into a very distant memory. The dark feeling had returned, growing more and more, choking him. Klaus knew they were running out of time.

* * * *

Whatever relief Ross felt while in Ireland disappeared after their arrival on mainland Europe. Their separation from Klaus burdened him a lot. It seemed very strange, since he hardly knew the man, but for some reason, a spiritual connected existed between them, one that made it hard for him to ignore Klaus’s dejection and self-loathing.

Clay’s disappointment and heartbreak overflowed through their bond.

A niggling thought told him his anxiety also stemmed from something else, but Ross pushed it aside.

Clay had suggested for them to go to Paris, arguing they would be harder to find in a large city. They didn’t know where to go from there, although it remained clear they couldn’t stay in one place at the same time. Even if the Parisian crowd offered a pretty good cover, it wouldn’t hold them for long.

One day after their arrival in Paris, he and Clay decided to take breakfast out. Clay seemed in a slightly better mood. “I’m not going to mourn my bond with Klaus forever,” he said. “We’re in the city of love. Let’s enjoy it.”

They left their hotel room and chose a tiny café where they ordered hot drinks and croissants. It felt strangely normal and romantic to just enjoy a morning with a special person over a bite of
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delicious breakfast. When he looked into Clay’s eyes over the café table, Ross almost forgot about his misgivings, and he could actually believe things would turn out all right.

Afterward, they went for a walk, taking in the beauty of the sights, the enticing scents coming from the various shops and the dazzling shine of the river. No one gave them a single ugly look when Clay took his hand, entwining their fingers together.

But as they headed back to the hotel, Ross sensed it again, the encroaching feeling of doom. He wanted to tell Clay to just make a run for it, leave the hotel and Paris altogether, but he didn’t get the chance.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing his flesh hard.

His attacker forcibly turned him around, and someone else did the same to Clay. Before he could even try to fight back, Ross found himself facing his nemesis, Joseph.

“Well, well, well.” Joseph chuckled. “Look what we have here.

Two errant pups away from their masters.”

Ross’s blood froze in his veins. His survival instinct told him to flee, every drop of self-confidence he’d gained in his time with Clay gone in one single moment. But he could not move. His muscles refused to obey him. Just looking into Joseph’s black eyes sent him spiraling into a world full of dark memories. Their last meeting flashed through his mind’s eye, and it felt as if he could experience each and every blow all over again.

How could this be? Ross had thought—or rather, hoped—he’d feel Joseph’s presence if the man ever found them. Then again, he must’ve felt and dismissed it like an idiot. He deserved whatever happened to him now.

It was only Clay’s presence that gave him the strength to remain anchored to the present. He gritted his teeth and struggled to free himself from Joseph’s hold. “Get the fuck away from me.”

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Joseph arched a brow at him in something akin to surprised amusement. “It seems the pup is teething. Not to worry. We know how to deal with that, don’t we, boys?”