Page 39

Thirty-Five

ALEC

My Bride.

Safe and in my arms.

And seconds away from being tossed onto my back so we can return home.

My hands travel the length of her body towards her thighs, where, with little effort, I hoist her into my arms, using the tree to trap her. Her legs tighten around my waist and her arms around my shoulders as a tentative intrigue echoes down the bond.

I slide my fingers into her hair, and grip her tighter, kiss her harder, telling her with my mouth exactly how I feel about her running. How the monster inside is demanding I show my Bride why taking off was a bad fucking idea. It craves ripping her clothes off and taking her right here, witchy audience be damned.

She breaks from my mouth for a much-needed gulp of air, and the moment she has it, I haul her back to me, a hand on her neck to keep her submissive.

It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since I’ve been inside her, and the bond wants a repeat. Wants to be inside her for as long as she’ll allow me to be. To tie her to my bed and keep myself sated on her blood and cunt while pampering her until she wouldn’t possibly consider ever leaving. We can spend eternity in my sheets, drinking and fucking.

She’ll pull away soon. I know Harlow, and the hate she felt for me hours prior didn’t vanish with her reuniting with Banff. So while I have her, I take my fill, the bond a cruel, prickly reminder this won’t be enough.

Almost on schedule, her hands push into my shoulders and her head turns, breaking the kiss. Her lips are swollen, and her eyes are a dark shade of lavender, begging me to kiss her again.

“You can’t—we can’t. How did you find me?” She ducks her head, as though to hide, which will never again happen. Her legs loosen, silently asking me to put her down, but I tighten my hold, denying her request.

“I warned you there isn’t anywhere you can run where I won’t be able to find you. As my Bride, we’re connected. I tracked your scent through the woods.” My nose slides up the side of her neck, enticing a groan as I take in what I’ve been forced to go without. “Until you disappeared, when I picked up another witch’s scent. It was all too easy to guess where you were headed, but even so, I followed the bond between us.”

“What bond?”

“The mate bond. Biting reveals who our Bride is—if we’re given one—and between drinking your blood and sex, a connection forms, allowing me to track you and feel your emotions. There are rumours of other abilities, but obviously I haven’t been able to test them before now.”

“Whoa, wait.” She leans against my hand, creating as much space as my arms allow for. “Put me down and back up. You can feel me? Like reading my mind?”

I only listen to one of her demands. “No, it’s a sense of your emotions, like they’re brushing against my own. It’s how I knew you were concerned about me when I appeared in front of that witch.” The memory tugs at a smile, that when the witch would have attacked, Harlow cared enough to block it. “Or when you were in my room, I felt what you felt. And right now, you’re scared. But not of me—although that’s only an educated guess. Your emotions don’t indicate the purpose behind them. You’re scared because I’m here and you have no idea what it means. Minutes before I entered the house, you were calm.” As much as I’ve always been attracted to her fear, I can’t deny her tranquility intrigued me on another level.

“Why can’t I feel you then?” She tries to mask it with her blank expression, but beneath her apprehension, she’s annoyed, which is intriguing considering what she’s saying.

“It’s only a guess, but probably because you didn’t take my blood in you. Blood-sharing is the ultimate act between mates. Bride or chosen partners, it’s the act that links a couple together. If you were a vampire, I’d imagine the bond would be completed on your end.” Or it wouldn’t exist at all, because she’s not a vampire.

She stiffens in my arms, sniffing. “Don’t wait around for that ’cause it’ll never happen.”

“I’d expect nothing less, Hellion.” The familiarity of our banter is a welcome greeting.

“Is it always like that? Mates aside, if you drank from another, would a bond form?”

“If it did, we’d all be connected one way or the other by now.”

She’s silent, digesting the news. The skin between her eyes is wrinkled, and I can’t help but reach up and stroke it smooth. When our skin meets, she jerks, jamming her elbows into my arms.

“Nope, too much. Put me down.”

I don’t.

“Alec,” she says in that warning tone of hers, and while it’s cute, it doesn’t work how she wants it to.

“First, I want to try one of the rumoured abilities.”

“Which is?” She drags her tongue over her bottom lip, teasing me with the taste I haven’t had my fill of quite yet.

I stare at her, mentally verbalizing what I want to, urging her to hear me.

Harlow.

She gasps, her eyes blown wide and slaps my shoulder. “No, no, no! Not this again. I won’t fuckin’ deal, not again.” Her palms press into the sides of her head as she shakes it back and forth. “You knew, this whole time, why I’ve been hearing your voice! Did you know I’d be your Bride? Was this yet more fucking lies, another person deciding my future?”

Using the tree as leverage to keep her upright, I manacle my hands around her wrists and tug them away from her head. “No, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have bit you had I known.” Although she doesn’t visibly show it, her emotions flinch with hurt. “I’ve never heard of mated pairs being able to hear one another before bonding. I don’t know why you did, but perhaps it’s a result of being a witch. When I called your name before barging into the witch’s home, that was the first time I’ve ever consciously attempted to mentally contact you, so anytime before today wasn’t my doing.” Deliberately, anyway.

Her fight ceases, shoulders slumping. “Fuck. Wow. Okay. Wow.” She swallows her rambles, finally managing a few coherent words. “On one hand, cool, but on the other, I’m already trying to get away from you as is. I don’t need more ways for you to torment me.”

“Every hour since biting you has been torment, Hellion, so I don’t see how this is any different.”

Her eyes flash with something unspoken, and the bond reveals nothing. Whatever it is passes for determination as she narrows her eyes, looking intent enough to scour my soul.

After another moment, the expression breaks for a puffed breath and, “Nothing?”

Smirking, I reply in her head. If that was you attempting to speak to me, I heard nothing. Assuming for the same reason you won’t feel my emotions. Not until you drink my blood.

“So never.”

If that’s what you want.

“I want you to put me down.”

This time, I listen, allowing her body to slide against mine, feeling her soft curves against the hard planes of my body. I remain where I stand, and when she tries to cut to the side to regain space, my arm comes up, blocking her.

“We’re not finished.”

“Was me slamming you against the wall not a good enough hint?”

“My Bride is powerful. Why would I be upset?”

“Yeah, well, your powerful Bride is getting annoyed and has another hex ready if you don’t back the fuck up and let me go.”

“Why would I do that when we’re moments away from heading back to the castle?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. I ran from you. If you forgot, you kidnapped me. You were going to use me and then kill me.”

There’s no denying the past, but there’s also no denying how the future is vastly different, and that she’s my future. She’ll be who I go through life for. She’ll be my life. While I don’t believe in fate, her kind does, and somewhere along the way, she became my fate. For that reason, I’ll protect her above anything—myself included.

“You’re my?—”

“No.” She shoves her hand over my mouth, cutting me off. Her skin is a bite away, but I limit myself to only a brief lick, pleased when her cheeks flush pink and she doesn’t pull away. “Without the title,” she continues, her voice a bit unstable, and lowers her hand. “I know what I am to you, but the fact remains that witches don’t have mates. The only reason you want me at all is because of the bond. Otherwise, you hate me being your mate. Hell, you hate me , so why should I want to be around you? Give me one good reason.”

Battles and wars where so few survived to be victors were simpler than dealing with this woman.

“I’ve wanted you for a while, but my hate blinded me.”

She freezes, mouth parted. A squirrel nearby squeaks, and Harlow returns to the moment. “You’re lying.”

I wish I were. That I keep to myself.

“You’ve been my obsession longer than I realized you were.”

“That’s not the same. You were obsessed with using me, not getting to know me.”

“Yes, and somewhere along our time together, that changed.” Maybe even before I bit her. “Something out there wants us together. Must be for a pretty good reason, so it’s our duty to see it through.”

“Oh my fucking Goddess,” she mumbles, tipping her head back until she’s staring at the sky. With another sigh, she pushes by me, and this time, I let her go, sensing her need to walk the rage out. “First it’s a bond, now it’s our duty. It doesn’t work like that, Alec!” She whirls, her foot sliding on the grass, but I dart to her side to keep her upright. She yanks away as fast as she’s stable, shooting me a scathing look before continuing her march towards the house.

I intercept her path. “I don’t have a choice, Hellion. My entire being demands I’m by your side, whether or not we like each other. Which, I do, by the way. Like you.”

“What are you, twelve?”

“Believe me or don’t. Your beauty was one of the first things I noticed. Your resilience was the second. Your humour, the third. You know how many Sinclairs have put up such a good fight? None.” I pause, searching her face, imploring her to understand the truths I’m revealing. “They fight back, sure, with curses and other witchy shit, but they always lose. How is it the witch without her powers beat me?” Her heartbeat thrums louder, inviting me nearer.

“I didn’t beat you. Not until I got my magick back.”

Another step, and her pulse jumps in excitement. “Oh, you beat me, Hellion. No other Sinclair would have survived me the way you did. You destroyed my will the moment you cried in that cell.”

“I survived because you let me. You would have slaughtered me that first night if not for your plans.”

That may be true.

“Ever think fate was the driving force behind my plan change? After generations of Sinclairs, only when it’s your turn did I alter my course. Why’s that?”

Her breath catches on the wind. “Thought vampires don’t believe in fate.”

“We don’t, but I’m starting to. What other explanation is there?”

Her gaze darts to the near-full moon in the sky, presumably looking towards where her deity would be, seeking answers neither of us will ever get.

“I’m not a vampire,” she finally whispers, tipping her head back down. “I have a coven again. Putting aside both of us and feelings and bonds and whatever else you’ve thrown my way, I’m a witch who’s finally home. A witch who barely knows how to be one, if today was any indication. I don’t know how to be a vampire’s Bride.”

“From what I’ve experienced, you know how to be a witch very well. And there is no lesson on being a vampire’s Bride, other than the fact you’re mine.” I snag her wrist, keeping her pinned to the spot. I catch when my words invoke a reaction urging her to run. My thumb traces the steady beat of her pulse, making small circles. “That’s your lesson. You. Me. The end.”

“I’m not leaving. This is where I was meant to be. Violet and Arthur murdered my parents and kidnapped me, forcing me to live half a life. One day with Morgan and I want more. I need more. I need this.”

Centuries of being immortal has trained my expression to remain flat, to not reveal I knew all this after Freya told me her story. It’s all the stuff I meant to tell her, but then she escaped the bedroom and it was one thing after the other.

I despise the flash of grief coming from the bond.

I hate her trepidation more. I didn’t plan to stay; I planned on snatching her up and running back home. She’ll hate me if I do that, and hours ago, it didn’t matter. Her feelings about me or mating were secondary to the fact that she needs to be safe and protected.

Until now. Until she’s looking at me like she’s seeking permission when we both know she’s not. Until she looks at me with wide, violet eyes that are sprinkled with something I’ve never seen from her. Not distress, not anxiety, not rage. Pure bliss, happiness…hope.

Hope is something every immortal loses over their ongoing life. Hope becomes nothing when, with our powers, you can have anything. Why hope when we take? Hope is also a curse when wanting something that’s impossible. Why hope for an out to this life when there are so few methods?

But Harlow’s hope? It’s fucking beautiful.

“Then I won’t either.”

“Alec—”

“I don’t have a choice. Feelings aside, the bond won’t allow me to leave.”

She rolls her lips together before conceding with a nod. “Okay…just don’t die. The coven will be pissed to see you hanging around.”

They’ll be more than pissed; they’ll be deadly, but I let her cling to that faith. “Didn’t know you still care.”

Expecting a quick quip, she unbalances me when she murmurs, “I didn’t know either, but I don’t want to see you hurt. Bond aside.”

Good, I inject into her head.

“Good,” she murmurs back, twisting to face the house again with a sigh. “Look, I don’t know what’s next, but in a few hours the sun will be up. Which means you need a place to stay.”

“Worried for my well-being again, Hellion? A man can get used to this.” There’s caves and shit all over the mountains, and it won’t be overly difficult to find one, not that I’d like to be so far away from her.

“A bit,” she mumbles, twisting to face the house, the single light on downstairs. The witch is observing us through the back window, her face concealed by tricks of light—presumably for Harlow’s benefit, but I’m able to see. “I can ask Morgan if she knows somewhere safe.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Even if we’re both aware this Morgan witch would rather see me burn in the sun than help me. “She’s by the back door.”

Harlow heads for the door and enters, peeking back before the house swallows her up. The moonlight is at an angle that reveals her small smile. A smile I’ll cling to until tomorrow night, when I’ll get to see her again.

The door shuts, and she talks quietly with the witch, their conversation audible with the help of my enhanced hearing. It’s a quick exchange where the sound of Harlow’s plea distracts me from the words being said, and then the door’s opening and the older witch is stepping outside, crossing towards me.

“Alec Dormer, is it? You’ve made yourself quite known around these parts.”

I watch her, not in the mood to get into this. The witch will demand I leave, and the only thing preventing me from ripping out her throat is Harlow’s obvious affection for her. The quicker the conversation finishes, the quicker I can start seeking shelter.

“Because of you, I now need to modify the spell on the border,” she muses. “Honestly, I never foresaw one of my own getting close enough to a vampire to make this an issue. Your kind creates a lot of problems, and when one member holds the very thing many vampires crave, you understand why I’m cautious about you being on my land.”

“Because you want to protect Harlow. Except you didn’t in the past.”

She flinches before the hurt slides off her, replaced by fury. “You know nothing about the past, vampire.”

“I do, actually.” And then I summarize everything Freya told me the other night, about Harlow’s fake parents joining the coven under false pretenses, getting close to everyone before murdering the real Sinclairs and taking Harlow for themselves.

The witch—Morgan, Harlow called her—straightens, observing me from beneath her nose despite being shorter than me. “Hm, I should ask how and why you know all that, but I’m getting the sense it doesn’t really matter, does it? You’re here for Harlow, and you’re right; I didn’t protect her well back then, but I’m vowing to do better this time.”

No one can protect her better than me.

“When news spreads she’s mine, my brethren will cease coming for her. Those who think to go against me will meet their deaths. She doesn’t need you.”

“But she wants the coven, doesn’t she?” Her small question throws me, snarky, reminding me a bit of Harlow. “If she didn’t wish to rejoin us, she’d be running back with you.”

“She claims to want this,” I agree, “but time will reveal how this all plays out.”

“In that, we’re in agreement, vampire. You care for her, so I hope you’ll help me protect her from the next threat.”

“Threat?” If I had a heart, it’d be pounding. The single word unlocks the monster within me, the part demanding I break into the witch’s home and snatch Harlow away, bundle her up and take her home to keep her safe from everything, even a fucking paper cut at this point. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a reason Violet and Arthur kept her for themselves, and I fear it’s not good.” Her gaze travels to the sky, scanning over the nearly full moon. “Something’s out there,” she murmurs. “I felt it the moment I felt Harlow’s signature. Something’s coming…and since she’s your life and death in physical form, you’ll protect her. I fear our joint efforts will be required.”

I don’t like what she’s saying. That a threat is coming, unknown at this point.

If Freya pops around, the witch has a few more questions to answer.

“For now, you have a problem.” She glances towards the southeast region, the snow-capped mountains in the distance. “Sunrise is in a few hours. She requested I help you get somewhere safe, so—and I can’t believe the words that are coming from my mouth—I’ll permit you to stay inside my home, warded in my basement. It’s windowless, so no daylight can enter. The enchantment I’ll place on the door will only permit Harlow or myself to enter, and I’ll let you out at sundown tomorrow. If ”—she juts a finger into my face—“your fangs even think about coming near me or my family, you’ll lose them, and I’ll send you on a one-way vacation to the sunniest, hottest place you can imagine. Understand?”

“My fangs will only ever be near one witch.”

Her nose wrinkles as though the very thought is abhorrent, but she gestures for me to follow inside. She leads me down the hallway, stopping by the door across from the kitchen. Before entering the lightless basement, I tilt my head towards the ceiling, listening for the telltale scraping of feet or breathing from my mate.

Morgan smirks knowingly. “She’s upstairs in a room directly above us. Probably already passed out. In you go so I, too, can get to bed.”

On the top step, a dart of my hand stops her from shutting the door. I stare at her, her purple eyes similar to Harlow’s, but wrong too. A telltale sign of a witch, but Harlow isn’t my enemy any longer, while this woman technically is.

Which is why I speak two words that grate at my throat, the wrongness of saying this to her a scalding brand on my neck, but meaning them regardless.

“Thank you.”

She bobs her head before shutting the door, hiding her flash of surprise. Her spell work is a murmur before the wooden door fizzles with a white coating that soon fades into nothing, and her steps pace away.