Page 78 of Dark Flame

The words are barely out of my mouth before a burst of heat flashes through her body and breaks my hold. She lunges back the way we came, strangely quick, and her arm juts behind her.

I jump as a spell narrowly misses me and chase her down the hallway, poised to do whatever I must to keep her here. By the door, she whirls around and casts a line of flames between us, stopping me in my tracks as it roars hot and tall enough to prevent me from jumping it. Her breaths are heavy when she glares over the orange, shaking her head.

“As I said before, witches don’t have mates. If you think I’m yours, that’s your problem. I’m leaving.”

“I’ll follow you.” I edge as near to the flames as I can, eyeing the height.

“Don’t.”

Regret filters from the bond, which tells me everything. “You don’t want to do this.”

Her shoulders cave in a fraction, another sign I’m correct, but she remains rigid in her reply. “You have no idea what I want. Nor have you ever cared.”

“I knowexactlywhat you’re feeling. Fear. Grief. Uncertainty. Regret. I feel you as though they’re my own emotions, Hellion.”

Her expression ripples into pain, until she abruptly shakes it off. Her lips move in a murmur, the language unfamiliar, the words quick and low, but I react regardless, knowing the sounds of a hex.

Before I make it two steps, my body is flung into the air like a marionette, crashing against the stone at least a dozen feet above us. If I were mortal, the impact could have broken my back, but as it stands, I brush it off and fight against unmovable binds.

Harlow stares, head tilted to the side. She’s a mix of the woman I’ve come to know and someone else. There’s something different about her. Not bad, but different. An air to her I find even more compelling but can’t place.

She turns away.

“Harlow.” My tone changes. It’s guttural, threatening—daring. “Don’t do this.”

“It’s already done.” By the door, she glances over her shoulder. The blankness in her expression breaks for a second, and the tiniest bit of sorrow comes down the connection.

“I’ll find you,” I vow. “There’s nowhere on Earth you can hide that I won’t be able to get to you.”

“I’m sorry, Alec.” She gestures my way, hitting me with an invisible pressure that sends me catapulting toward darkness.

But right before sleep consumes me, I’m forced to witness my Bride walk away from me…alongside the shadows hovering around her.

* * *

I come to,finding myself on the stone floor with someone above me.

“This isn’t what I expected to find.” A familiar voice cuts through the fog, and a hand stretches down. My next blink clears the remnants of Harlow’s spell until Cedric looming over me becomes clear.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, pushing to my feet and shaking off the last thing I remember. My Bride walking away from me—leavingme. The moon is visible through the large window in the upper corridor, meaning hours have passed, the sun has fallen, and Harlow is who the fuck knows where.

Cedric cuts into my vision, reminding me of his presence. “You haven’t answered any of my calls. I’ve been in the dark since the night of your party. Where’s the witch?” He eyes the charred stone from where her flames created a barrier between her and me. “Don’t tell me she overpowered you?”

“She did more than that. She—” I stop, rubbing a hand over my face while debating how much to tell him. If there’s anyone on the planet I trust, it’s Cedric, but admitting this feels wrong. Like Harlow must be protected from everyone and everything, herself included, and that means ensuring no one knows what she is to me, even Cedric.

“She what?” he prompts.

Then again, he has as much reason to hate the Sinclairs as I do, if not more. For a while, he and Cora were mated, and her death left behind a hollowness in Cedric that’s never faded. If I don’t admit everything, there’s no telling what he’ll do to get her back out of some misplaced feeling of being helpful, and no one, not even him, will harm her.

“She’s my Bride.”

Cedric’s expression flicks through a few emotions at such a quick rate, a mortal would miss them. Shock, dismay, intrigue and something else. Something extremely fleeting that makes me tense.

Rage.

Understandable he’d be angry that a Sinclair has now become untouchable, but it’s an emotion I’ll need to pay particularly close attention to.

“That’s impossible,” he finally whispers.