Page 40 of Glimmer and Burn (Unity #1)
Chapter Eleven
T he ride through the Garrison was hell.
It wasn’t the fear of losing Miranda that tortured Devin with each sway and dip of the carriage, it was how scared and useless he felt despite being certain that she would recover.
She was breathing, whole, her aura strong as ever—though a muddied panicked shade of violet was coiling around her like an oil spill in clear water.
It was likely just the overtaxing of her emotions combined with little sleep and no breakfast that caused her to collapse into his arms. All Miranda needed was some water, a hearty meal, and to check on her sister.
With any luck, North had been misinformed and Cordelia would be happy and well when they arrived.
Yet, there was a tremble in his hands and dread had locked around his heart, squeezing with each frantic pulse. What was he supposed to do?
He held her. That much was simple. He tried to soothe her, but aside from a gentle stroke of his hand he didn’t know what else he could offer her.
When the driver had asked for the destination, Devin briefly considered giving his address in the Garrison.
A brief, selfish impulse to keep her to himself, as if he were responsible for her welfare and he alone held the right to her care—however out of his depth.
But it’s not where she needed to be. Miranda would want to check on her sister.
She needed to go home. And he was her only means to get there.
Biting out the words, he had supplied her address and tried to keep calm.
In a practical sense, there was nothing he could do.
But in an emotional sense his body was shooting out adrenaline that settled in his limbs as nervous energy with no outlet.
And he cared, so much more than he thought possible, that she opened her eyes again.
He didn’t know where they stood with each other, not with any certainty. The words that would label his relation to her were murky, unclear, and who-the-hell-knows. Though, the words that might fit his attachment were closer to consuming, maddening, and too-deep-to-recover.
For as long as he could keep this going, he wanted to be with Miranda.
It was pointless to pretend otherwise. Somehow, she had twisted her knives into all his buried, locked away pieces and pried them free with as much care and force as explosive powder excavating a mine.
If he lost her, or when he lost her, there would be nothing left but gaping holes and he didn’t think he was strong enough to attempt to patch them this time.
All through that blasted meeting with Gideon he’d had to stop himself from taking her hand or pulling her closer.
Touch, as he knew it, had always been a tool for either violence or sex and the idea of wanting to feel her skin just for the warmth of it, because that warmth trickled into him and somehow made the ache lighter, soothed the doubt and self-deprecating voices of his inner demons, was as foreign to him as tea services and dinner parties.
Her aura had been steadfast in Gideon’s office and his touch had only elicited colors of comfort or joy.
But even his Sight could be misleading. His mother had always burned with one singular, solid color over all others, a maternal pink that flared whenever she was with him.
But it wasn’t enough. Her love for him never wavered while all her other colors grew muted, dull.
Her care and ability to show him affection weren’t stronger than the weight of everything else.
And colors of emotion could be fickle. Strong one minute, gone the next.
Even a strong emotion might be ignored or pushed aside if they conflicted with someone’s goals or ingrained beliefs.
As a teenager he’d watched auras pulse with desire for him, even as they sneered and mocked him.
Or a stranger’s snap of pitying cyan before pretending they hadn’t noticed him.
Gideon was a master of changing colors. Crimson-indigo-vermillion-violet.
He could whisk through several fleeting emotions in the span of a moment.
Devin’s heart ached to hope.
The carriage finally stopped outside her home. He felt her stir and called to her softly to no answer. Oh well, looks like it was the front door then. He steeled himself for the rage that was sure to hit him when he knocked on the Wilde’s door with their run-away daughter unconscious in his arms.
He kicked the door in the pattern of a knock, since his arms were occupied, and the butler answered with a look that suggested he did not appreciate his master’s door being kicked, no matter how practical.
“Can I hel—” The butler’s eyes landed on Miranda and a burst of alarming goldenrod blinded Devin for a moment. “Miss Wilde!”
The butler leaned, reaching out as if to save her from the scary villain, but Devin pulled away. Villain he may be, but he refused to let them take her inside and shut him out. He intended to be there when she opened her eyes, whether the Wilde’s wanted him or not.
“Call for her parents. I’ll ask you only once to step aside.” Devin’s tone left no room for argument and goldenrod turned to crimson anger.
With a huff, the butler allowed him to enter and Devin sought the first room he could find with a couch.
He eased Miranda down as gently as he could, moving the hair from her face so it fell in gentle waves over the pillows.
Like a princess in a fairy tale waiting for a prince to kiss her awake.
He lingered for a moment, her hair still caught in his fingers.
Villainous rogues didn’t kiss princesses.
Devin tore his hands away, wanting to linger where he could feel that she was still warm and breathing, but not wanting to be found touching her when her parents arrived.
“Miranda!” A woman pushed him backward. Familiar shades of ruby and blue—complimentary to her daughter’s—dotted with worried plum purple flooded his vision and forced him to step back. “Miri, by the Divine, what happened? What—”
Lady Wilde set a hand on her daughter’s cheek and when she felt warmth and the movement of breath, she collapsed at her daughter’s side, not even attempting to mask the sobs that shook her whole body.
Lord Wilde followed on his wife’s heels encompassed in a swirl of controlled, gallant white and authoritative royal blue, marred only by the same worried shade as his wife.
But…another color caught Devin’s attention as husband neared wife.
A red link reached from her aura to his, a binding thread of color.
Two souls woven together.
He’d seen these threads before, but in the Fells, the bind of real love was hard to find. Though he tried to resist, afraid to see nothing, his gaze locked on Miranda, searching.
“What happened?” Lady Wilde got to her feet, advancing on Devin with purpose and fury. “What happened to her?”
Devin nearly tripped over a footstool, unprepared for Lady Wilde’s aggression. He could not say for sure if she was a guardian, but he was not about to test the theory. She looked ready to start tearing limbs. Lord Wilde put a hand on her shoulder, reigning her back.
“Cicely, let him explain.”
“Cordelia is gone and Miranda wasn’t in her room. She wasn’t…” Lady Wilde ground her teeth, hot angry tears streaming down her cheeks. “And now she’s here and not waking up and what happened ?” She directed the last question to Devin, growling as she advanced.
“She fainted. She’ll be fine in a moment,” he assured, “When she heard about Corde—er, the younger Miss Wilde,” he corrected as two pairs of eyes narrowed on him at the familiar use of the sister’s name, “It…I think she was just overwhelmed and in need of a decent meal.”
“She was in need of her home!” Lady Wilde’s aura was blazing, flickering flame red and blinding sunburst fear. “The girls need to be home.”
“Miranda is here,” Lord Wilde soothed, his hands holding her as she trembled, the red thread entwining their bodies. Devin looked away, eyes landing on Miranda, who was beginning to stir. He crossed around the inconveniently arranged furniture until he was at her side.
Her eyes fluttered and her smile allowed his heart to beat again. There was no red thread connecting them. Aura Sight didn’t allow him to see his own aura, but he was certain the frayed edge of a red strand reached unrequited for Miranda.
Her smile vanished as she looked past him and bolted upright. “I’m home.”
Lady Wilde reached for Miranda, hovering near Devin though careful not to touch him.
“Cordelia?” Miranda looked between her parents. Their looks were answer enough. Miranda shook her head and pushed through him to stand. “No! It was supposed to be me. He wanted me . She was…she isn’t strong enough for this…”
“We’ve only just learned of the news. We had assumed both of you were safe in your rooms. There were no signs of capture in either of your chambers, so I can only assume that bars would be needed to keep the pair of you contained.” Lord Wilde gave his daughter a pointed look.
“Cordelia climbed out her window?” Miranda asked as if the observation was ludicrous, which struck Devin as amusing considering how often Miranda herself seemed to abscond from windows.
“Or she was taken from it, though no evidence suggests she was forced,” Lord Wilde said, “Then we saw the papers this morning and…we’re working on getting her back. If we knew where to start that would be one thing, but she could be anywhere.”
Miranda stopped pacing, turning on her heel to address the room. “I know where she is.”
“Where?” Lady Wilde asked, desperation in her voice and aura.
“I had evidence of Graves’s plans to use guardians to inject fae with Divine blood—”
“ What ?” Her parents interrupted together.