Page 8 of Polestar (The Global Paranormal Security Agency #3)

EIGHT

A na rubbed her fingers across the back of her neck, kneading the muscles as she listened to the rest of her teammates give their reports to Kane, now that they were all back at the estate.

After the extraction of Magnus’ clansman, Ana had continued her investigation with little success. The only directional intention she could glean was ‘north’, which was pretty darned useless as far as she was concerned.

She looked up as Magnus crossed the back of the room again.

He was with them in body, but his mind was visibly with his clansman.

“Bjornson, will you sit? Your pacing is making me twitchy,” Aaron Connor snapped, cutting into what Raya was saying.

Magnus scowled at Aaron, but dropped into the leather chair next to Ana.

Raya resumed.

Ana tuned out Raya’s words as Magnus’ energy swarmed her, stealing her breath away.

“I’m sure he’ll be alright. Our medics are the best.” She reached out, hesitated for only a second to ensure her psychic barrier was in place, then laid her hand over his on the arm of the chair.

Magnus blew out his breath, looking down at her hand on his. “I know. He flipped his hand over, so they were palm to palm, giving her fingers a slight squeeze.

Shivers rippled through her at the intimate contact. She struggled against the urge to slide her fingers between his, anchoring them together.

She looked up into his face, his eyes locked on hers, thoughtful.

“He would have died in there if you hadn’t found him.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she said, trying to make light of her role.

Magnus snorted. “He’s a polar bear. If he’s unconscious, he’s in a bad way.” He glanced at the door.

“Magnus, what else can you tell us about our patient?” Director Kane asked, drawing the focus of the meeting back to Bjornson.

Palm still tingling, Ana withdrew her hand from Magnus’ light grasp.

“There really isn’t anything more I can add to the report I filled out earlier.”

Kane picked up the sheaf of paper. “Aksel Matochkin, twenty-two years old, kinsman by marriage via your former wife, Ulla Matochkin.”

Magnus nodded.

Former wife?

Magnus was—had been married? Ana wasn’t sure why it surprised her, given that she knew nothing about the man next to her. It had only been a few days since she boarded his charter.

“When’s the last time you saw Aksel?”

Magnus drew a deep breath and blew it out on a heavy exhale, staring at the floor. “The day they banished me.”

Banished?

Ana’s gaze shot to Magnus’ solemn face, then to Kane and the others.

They all know.

Despite not being a shifter, even Ana knew that banishment from a clan was bad.

Very bad.

And he worked for Kane and the GPSA? How the heck did that make sense? What could he possibly have done that was so bad, that the only answer was banishment? Or death.

She glanced at him again and decided she was glad it was the former.

But if he worked for Kane, it couldn’t be so bad, could it?

She’d never got that kind of vibe from him, not even when she’d accidentally read him on that first night. Which knocked her out. Along with the fever. She still blamed that mostly on the fever.

Or… had it been something more?

She searched his profile, tempted to lower her barrier and prod. But that would be an invasion of his privacy.

Not something she would deliberately do to her teammates unless directly ordered to do.

Deliberate reading or not, she couldn’t ignore the waves of guilt and regret that emanated from him. And something more. Deeper. Heartache.

The urge to take his hand and offer him comfort again was overwhelming.

Heartache for his former wife?

She clasped her hands on her lap, fingers locked together as she passingly acknowledged her own fleeting feelings of disappointment and jealousy.

Jealousy?

You’ve barely known the man a few days , she reminded herself. What’s wrong with you?

She entertained the notion for a few seconds. Only a few. That was all she needed.

Tall, amazing hair, muscle-y in that bear-like way and smells really, really great.

Then she promptly shut that line of thought down.

Colleague. Grumpy—in a cute way. Colleague. Professional. Gentleman. Colleague.

She recalled waking in her burrito-blanket-roll, eyes opening to the image of his bare-chested form sleeping upright on an office chair.

Who does that?

That doesn’t sound much like the type of guy that gets himself banished from his clan, does it?

Ana!

She squeezed her eyes shut to control her wayward thoughts.

She was so busy self-analyzing that she missed when the topic changed.

“… when he wakes up. Otherwise, you’ll have to investigate this further,” Kane said.

“You mean go home and talk to my father?” Magnus spat the words. “You know, I might not make it that far if they have orders to kill me as soon as I cross the territorial boundary.”

“They won’t, and you know it.”

“No, they’d want to know why I was there first, then kill me.”

“So, you give them a reason that would get you in to see him.”

“Death or marriage.”

Kane raised a brow. “Explain.”

“Normally when someone is banished, that’s it. They’re dead to the clan. However, as the king’s heir and son, proof of death would be necessary, therefore my body would need to be returned.”

“And marriage?”

“Along the same lines as death. The registrar needs to record vital information in the clan histories. They must keep the information tracking the lineages. If I were to marry, this would logically lead to an heir that could return and challenge for leadership at some point, despite my position of banishment.”

King’s heir and son? Magnus was a polar bear prince?

Ana was dying to know why they banished Magnus from his clan.

“Okay, that’s perfect. If we can’t rouse your brother-in-law to consciousness in the next day or two, you’re going to your father to report your marriage.”

“What?” Magnus shot to his feet.

“Well, you can’t go and report your death now, can you? Marriage it is.”

He snorted, throwing his hands up. “And who am I supposed to present to him as my wife?”

Kane seemed thoughtful as she regarded him. “Not Burns. They’d smell her and know instantly she isn’t human, which would raise suspicions. That leaves Ortega.”

“What—what?” Ana popped to her feet next to Magnus. “I can’t marry Bjornson!”

“Hey, no one said anything about actually getting married,” Magnus growled. “Besides, Ortega’s too frail to even survive the trip there.”

“I’m not frail!” she objected, fists landing on her hips.

“Sweetheart, anyone who gets hypothermia from a rainstorm is frail,” Magnus rounded on her, brows furrowed.

“Well… I…” She crossed her arms. “Whatever, I don’t want to go anyway, so it’s a moot point.”

“Want to or not. Your orders are to go to Barentia and pretend to be Magnus’ bride-to-be if his kinsman doesn’t wake up to explain what the hell he was doing on that ship.”

“B ride-to-be…” Magnus grumbled as he sat next to Aksel’s hospital bed, which had been set up in a room at Kane’s estate. GPSA medics that knew how to handle shifter physiology closely monitored him.

Despite the ridiculous proposal, the underlying seriousness of Aksel’s state was undeniable. He was alive—barely, but he wasn’t healing either.

Magnus studied the younger man’s bruised face. He’d been carefully cleaned up, his broken leg encased in a cast. The grime had obscured many cuts and bruises, testament to the fact he’d been beaten—severely. Many times.

Magnus swallowed hard. Aksel was still a kid the last time they’d seen each other, and it hadn’t been a happy parting.

Obviously. There was nothing happy about a banishment where everyone was expected to treat the banished like a pariah as they cast him out, hurling objects and bitter words.

Before that day, Aksel had been like Magnus’ own little brother. He’d certainly loved him like he was his blood.

Blood didn’t matter anymore. Nor did kinship. None of those things existed in Magnus’ world since he’d been cast out.

I can’t go back.

His father had ensured that.

He rubbed a hand over his face and beard, scrubbing the memories away as he moved to sit in the chair at the foot of Aksel’s bed.

Why the fuck was Aksel on that ship? He wasn’t human—he was a powerful member of Barentia’s polar bear shifter clan. So how is it possible for him to even be in this state? Prone, vulnerable and near death, unable to heal, let alone awaken and tell Magnus what happened to him.

Even when Magnus had experienced the worst of the worst in clan life by being banished, no matter what they’d thrown at him, or insults they’d hurled, he’d still had his physical strength to keep him alive, alone in the frozen northern wastelands.

When he’d almost died of starvation, or drowning from swimming for days, exhausted, he’d still healed.

Aksel wasn’t healing.

Why?

Magnus’ gaze swept over Aksel’s prone form. The blanket covered most of his body, leaving his clan markings visible above it. A mixture of his Matochkin home clan and Barentian adoptive clan.

Magnus swallowed down the long-buried homesickness that threatened to rise. He hadn’t seen such familiar body art, other than his own, in a decade.

As he looked at the young man’s exposed tattoos, Magnus noticed one that stood out, stark and fresh on the base of his throat, but partially obscured by his thick beard.

Magnus rose from his chair and approached the bed, bending to inspect Aksel’s throat.

His stomach dropped, his heart stopped, and he closed his eyes.

Fuck.

Leaning on the rail at the foot of the bed, he forced himself upright.

He gave himself a moment to collect his despair and his rage before reaching for his phone to call Kane.

“We’ve got a problem. A big one.”