Syphon's Song (27 page)

“I know. It’s terrible. I know. I can’t even believe I thought it, much less said it. It’s just…this potion I was trying had all my thoughts bubbling up in my head. I was thinking things no one ever should. I was so relieved when it wore off. I had to tell Lawry it was no good.”

“You need to tell
Lawry
that you’re done taking his damn potions.” Lord Rallis stood to face Allison.

The woman melted under her uncle’s gaze.

“My brother has not been an ideal father,” Lord Rallis continued. “We are all aware of that. Your home is here. You are part of this family. But the potions stop. Get off them. Now. We’ll help, but you’re done.”

She gave a watery nod. “I think,” she began, stopped, and tried again. “I think Lawry might have talked to the reporter on his own. I saw them talking together when I went over to the bar.” She wiped away a tear. “But I only heard them talking about a death warrant.”

* * * *

Vincent drove them back to his house, quiet in his thoughts.

Bronte interrupted them. “What’s a death warrant?” A shiver passed through her at the ugly phrase.

Vincent looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “It authorizes an enforcer to execute a mage for extreme misuse of energy that has resulted in another mage’s death or death of their mage sense.” He recitation sounded as if he’d memorized it. “If someone claims grounds for a death warrant, they have to prove it at a hearing. It’s impossible to fake. No one could prove such a charge against you, that’s for sure. I’ve studied syphons for years, and I have the degree to prove it. I know their power doesn’t harm.”

“Are death warrants common knowledge among mages?” She slumped in her seat at his nod. “My parents will probably give it a try someday.”

“They’ll lose.” He pulled into the meadow and followed the smashed twin trails now lining his front yard. They hadn’t been there when she’d first arrived.

“Is there anything else I don’t know about?” It had been one surprise after another around here. She could do without more for the next three to five years.

He parked the truck and rubbed his face, looking almost as tired as she felt. “I know you want to devise your own plans, but there’s no avoiding the fact that you must be declared a mage. Soon.”

She shook her head. He caught her, cupping his hands around her face.

“Hiding can’t be part of your plan anymore. Not after the newspapers. There’s no other option. It will be alright. You have the protection of the most powerful family in the Republic.” He took a breath.

She recognized its type. “But…” She braced for his bad news with a grip around his wrists.

“Once you’re declared a mage, the Casteels can claim you as one of theirs—a Casteel mage belongs in Casteel Territory. They would have legal right to do whatever they wanted with you.”

“That’s bad.” Her shaky words puffed through the air. She searched for a silver lining. “But they’d need a death warrant to kill me?”

“Not exactly.”

Silver tarnished to black. Maybe staying under the wide, strong wing of the Rallises was for the best. Maybe she didn’t need freedom. The moment she thought it, her soul wilted. No, freedom was a necessity.

“Founding families are the exception to the law. They can deal with their own mages however they like. But they won’t get away trying to claim you. If they refuse to relinquish their claim, we’ll hold their medallion ransom until they agree.”

“I thought you didn’t want to do that. It’s against your principles.”

He stroked a finger down her cheek. “You’re worth violating my principles.” He got out of the truck and walked around to her side.

She sat motionless, cowed by this new set of hurdles to leap.

He opened her door. “Besides, it might not even be necessary.”

“Yeah, a judge could sign a death warrant.” Her knees fell out from under her as she got out of the car.

He caught her and held her against his body. “Not going to happen.”

“Anything else I should know about?”

“The body.” Vincent listed the next issue as if it was a minor problem. “The gyre has yet to flux down to lower energy levels. There’s an envoy from the High Council here who needs in there. Senate murders are Council business…if this is a murder. She’s demanding your help to retrieve the body. Apparently Masset told stories that somehow got to the Council’s ears.” He put his arm around her and escorted her up his porch steps.

“How can I help?”

“You syphon some of the gyre’s power. That’s why I could get in. I think it’s why Masset could get so close. The envoy wants you to escort her in. My mother says the woman is pushy. But you are not to help her until you’ve been declared a mage. A Rallis mage. The Council is not getting near you without that.”

She slumped against the wooden walls of his house.

“You don’t have to be involved in any of it. My parents, Edmund, the senator…they can handle it all.”

“No. I will be involved.” Adamant, she straightened from the wall. “I suppose if the envoy needs a syphon’s help, that can’t be a bad thing.” She pulled her eyebrows down. She had no desire to go find the body, but Casteel needed its medallion back. “Anything else?”

He zapped the lock. They walked in and she threw herself into the first chair at the large kitchen table and cradled her head in her arms. He stood beside her and ran his fingers through her hair. “I don’t think there is anything else. Claude is being transported to the basement, but that doesn’t involve you.”

She lifted her head. “I want to talk to him.”

“Out of the ques—”

She crossed her arms over her chest.

“We’ll discuss it after he arrives.”

She could save her arguments for then. She nodded to herself, an absent gesture that half put her to sleep. “I could deal with all of this.”

He crooked his eyebrow at her.

“Except that I’m just so tired.” She hated the whine in her voice. “But I don’t think I could sleep.”

“I can get you to sleep. Go get on the bed.” He held out his hand for hers.

She looked up at him from under her bangs. “Is this a ploy? I’m tired enough to fall for it, but I have really bad dungeon feet.”

“Go take a shower. Don’t get dressed afterwards.”

“I’m getting dressed, Vincent.” Into what, though? Her bag was in her car parked at the big house.

“Waste of time. Shower fast. Come to me naked. Get in bed.”

He commanded her like she was one of his men. She quirked a brow but obeyed, pivoting on her heel toward the bath. She went as fast as she could, lathering bubbles to rinse off the grime. Too bad death warrants and rumors in the tabloids couldn’t wash down the drain with it.

When she came out, Vincent sat on the bed, elbows on knees. He’d pulled all the blinds closed, but a line of soft morning light streamed in through the edges. He was still dressed in his black army gear, including boots. Bronte tugged her towel tighter.

“You look all business.” She leaned against the door, not venturing any further.

He shook his head. “No, this is all pleasure.” The words were low and rough. He patted the mattress next to him. “Come sit.” She pushed away from the door and padded silently to the bed.

“What are you going to do? I’m a little nervous.” She sat next to him. His greater weight pulled the mattress down. Her hip tilted into his. She gave him a quick glance with her admission, then dropped her gaze to the floor. Their feet were side by side. Her toes looked very squishable next to his big boots.

“No reason to be nervous.” He took the thick mass of her wet hair into his hands, threading his fingers through it. Her syphon power gobbled up his energy as he used his mage sense to remove the water. “I know exactly how our energy works together.”

“How could you know in such a short time?” She silently calculated the amount of time they’d been together, but it reminded her of the doomed syphon in his dissertation. She quit adding. She didn’t want to think about that right now.

“Instinct. I can’t resist your warmth. I’m solid ice, cold and sharp. You melt all my rough spots with your pull, your strength. I feel like you have a place inside you that’s only for me.”

She leaned in, buried her face in his neck. His honesty tugged at her heart, almost too intense to face.

“You are the most important thing in my life. I will defend this from anyone, from anything.” He pulled away, cupping her cheeks and looking her in the eyes. “I want to be your safe place. Like you are for me. I want to be worthy of you.”

She sucked in a breath. He was worthy. That had never been in question. She opened her mouth to tell him, but yawned instead. She covered it with her hand and a blushing apology.

He smiled. “I might fall asleep too.” He bent over and untied his boots, lining them up under his bed. “Although not as deeply as I did the last time.”

She didn’t miss the warning. “Yeah.” She looked away. “You were pretty tired.”

“That won’t happen again. Take off the towel.”

The sun went behind the clouds. The light in the room dimmed, but the intimacy blossomed. He reached to the side to open the bed’s covers. He held them, waiting.

Bronte searched deep into herself for a last bit of boldness. She stood. The towel fell to the floor with a muffled
thump
. From his seat on the bed, he was eye level with her nipples. They hardened with his glance.

He closed his eyes. “Get in.” He stood so she could crawl to the far side. “Lay on your stomach or your side. Face the wall.”

“Why?”

“Because if I keeping looking at your breasts, this is never going to work.” He tucked the blankets around her.

“Have you done this before?”

He gave a low laugh. “No, Bronte. I have not done this before.” The bed moved as he got in next to her. His weight held down the covers as he stayed on top of them. She was trapped between the wall and him. “Relax.”

She tried, letting her body sink into his.

He helped, wrapping an arm around her and securing her against him. “I’m going to fill you up with slow vibes.” His voice was as sleepy as the energy her syphon power was soaking up.

She had no control over it, never had, never would. Vincent could control her power better than she could. She focused on the sensation. The whole universe seemed to decelerate with her. Though the energy drifted slowly, she was full with it. Her eyes closed, but only for a moment as a thought came to her. “Don’t do this to me without my permission.”

“Never. Now be quiet. I have to concentrate.”

“How are you doing this?” Her mind evened out, her muscles relaxing.

“I’m forcing my energy to lose its focus. It’s kind of like when your eyes lose focus. Hard to do on command. And hard to hold it there.”

“So why did I have to be naked?”

“That was just a bonus for me.”

She laughed as her eyes closed.

* * * *

Her breath evened. Joule by joule he let his energy spring back to its normal state, careful not to pull her from sleep. Her syphon power continued to draw his vibes without a hint of disturbance. He relaxed, tipping his head down, burying his nose in her hair. She’d used his shampoo again. He took a perverse pleasure in his scent mixing with hers.

He hadn’t told her everything. He hadn’t told her he needed to return to work, though he’d be by her side for the hearing at noon. He hadn’t wanted to admit to her that his leave was up. He wasn’t sure when he’d be back. But he’d come home to her.

He loved the sound of that. Closing his eyes, he sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

Gregor and Dane would be here soon. He hadn’t told her that either. She wouldn’t like it. But there was nothing she could say or do to change his mind.

He took another breath of her scent. Leaving her with two guards was not enough. He wanted some kind of claim on her…a promise that he’d be back for her, something to hold her to him.

Primitive of him. She did that to him.

A way existed, an old way—an energy weave. No one did it nowadays. The tradition of the weave had fallen off with the colonization of this new land. It was a mark of two mages’ power. They merged their energies together in one small place on their skin. Since Bronte had no power to offer him, there would be no blending of their energies. It would be his energy alone, a vibrating tattoo of his vibes.