Page 15 of The Death Dealer (Sentinels of Magic Book 2)

“He’s fallin’ for her.”

Damian turned from the window and met the Guardian’s concerned eyes. “I’m aware.”

“You’re not worried about her continued health, Aether?”

“I am, but not in the way you imagine.”

Draven gave him a curious look. “You’re not readin’ my thoughts. How do you know what I’m imaginin’?”

As he opened his mouth to respond, it occurred to him the other man must be able to feel him poking around his mind. Damian frowned. No one, other than the strongest of their kind, could sense him. His best friends, Alastair and Castor, yes, because he didn’t try to hide his trespass. His daughter, too. But few should be able to recognize the intrusion for what it was. “First you. How did you know I wasn’t privy to your thoughts?”

“I can feel you, and others if they try.” Draven nodded toward Sabrina, who was across the room, happily chatting Gene Stockton’s ear off as the man nodded and smiled. One father with the patience of a saint could recognize another.

“When you do it, there’s a sense of heaviness. It’s similar to a threatenin’ headache.”

Having never experienced the sensation, Damian considered the Guardian’s description. Other than Beastie, no one had the ability to read his thoughts without his express permission. Not even higher beings, like deities or the Fates, dared attempt it. He wasn’t opposed to slapping back with his magic.

“Fair enough. In answer to your question, I went on the assumption you were referring to the Blane family’s supposed curse.”

“Supposed?”

“There’s no such thing. Not for them, anyway. If it were real, then anyone he cares about or who spends time in his vicinity would be at risk. I’d never take a chance with my daughter’s health.”

Draven ran a poker chip across his knuckles, causing it to disappear at his pinky, then reappear at his thumb to start the motion all over again. The gesture was absent-minded and habitual, stemming from years of game play. He shrugged, never breaking the speed of the traveling chip. “You’re assumin’ he cares about your girl, Aether. Perhaps he’s only humorin’ the both of you.”

Levity laced Draven’s comment, and Damian didn’t take offense where none was intended. “It’s true we have a tendency to impose ourselves on people in certain situations. I’ll give you that.” He smiled in response to the other man’s quicksilver grin. “But either way, if such a curse existed, I’d know about it.”

“I’ve been friends with him awhile. I’ve seen the bad luck his family seems to have. Hell, Simon was bound, and he still put off enough power for his first wife to contract cancer.”

“True. But a Death Dealer also has the power to heal, and no mandate from the Authority or Fates will stop them should they wish to save a family member or loved one.”

“You’re forgettin’ Simon’s wife died.”

“I’m not. Her passing was tragic, but the reason was the binding of Simon’s powers, not the existence of them. And I’m responsible. No one and nothing else.”

“You?” Draven asked sharply. His dark-blond brows dipped as his expression darkened, turning forbidding.

“It’s a long story, but I consumed his power when he was a boy at his father’s bequest. I regret helping Benjamin, but I wasn’t in possession of the truth at the time.”

“It doesn’t negate the fact his wife died.”

Damian suppressed a grimace. “It doesn’t, but don’t forget the Fates may have had a hand in it. It’s possible their intent was to prod Simon in a direction he might not have taken while still married to Tiffany.”

Draven stared at him with intelligent eyes as he considered his reply. With a slow nod, he said, “You don’t believe Soleil’s goin’ to be affected by Trevor’s magic.”

“I don’t. Should she become ill, I’ll step in,” he promised. “My sister-in-law will have a long and healthy life. Which brings us to the next part of our conversation. I want to know who is trying to kill her.”

“I was with her at the restaurant prior to Trevor and her runnin’ off. I detected no threat inside.”

Unless a magical being of Draven Masters’s caliber was expecting an attack, he wouldn’t be alerted to danger. He’d need to keep his senses open, which would be draining for most.

“Did you purposely scan the room while there?” Damian asked.

“It’s a habit I’ve developed over the years. When you’ve been in hidin’ or taken part in Wild West poker games with temperamental outlaws, you develop eyes in the back of your head.”

“Understandable. But perhaps you should keep better company.”

Another quicksilver grin flashed on the Guardian’s rugged, unshaven face. “Perhaps I should, mon ami. Perhaps I should.”

“Why do I feel like your last comment was directed at me?” Damian mused aloud, causing the other man to chuckle.

“Because it was?”

They shared a laugh before Damian sobered. “So what do you think, Masters? Who could possibly have it in for Soleil? She possesses the loveliest heart of anyone I know.”

The Guardian squinted as he considered the problem. “Whoever’s behind it is certainly incompetent, no?”

“Mm.”

“What about your girl? Can she not tell you who’s responsible?” Draven paused his hand movement and pocketed the chip. “Or Fintan.”

“I’ll ask, but if Beastie knows, she usually volunteers the information well before I’ve had a chance to inquire.”

Draven’s normally disillusioned eyes were lit with affection as he cast a glance Sabrina’s way. “You may act put-upon, but you’re blessed, cher, and you damned well know it.”

“I’ve never denied my good fortune.” Damian observed his daughter’s animated face. With elfin features, she was adorable, but the promise of great beauty was there, if one looked close. The time was fast approaching for him to explain to her the power she wielded. To stress the importance of putting up walls with strangers and maintaining balance in all things.

“I don’t know if I thanked you properly for the coin or for helping us out of a sticky situation with the Authority, but I owe you a debt of gratitude, Masters. You need only tell me what you want, and I’ll see it’s done.”

“I believe your daughter paid your debt.” The Guardian’s gaze lingered on Sabrina, and his expression turned haunted. “Is she always right?”

“She sees multiple outcomes and analyzes the visions to determine the one most likely to happen. But her predictions aren’t foolproof, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Draven met his eyes. “She once told me the soul can come back if it wants to.”

“You must know about reincarnation.”

“Yes, but she insinuated Brooke Ellis was…” He inhaled deeply. “I need to know if Brooke was my wife.”

“Would it matter if she was? She’ll have no memory of her previous life, and it might prove disappointing for you that she doesn’t.” Damian wasn’t trying to be unkind, but expectations led to heartache.

“So I should go it alone until it’s my time?” Sadness, regret, and loneliness were rolled together, creating the sizeable emotion in Draven’s voice. “And what about her? Will she ever find her great love if I leave her to her fate?”

“I’ve always coached Beastie not to reveal what she knows. It could alter the outcome. But if it were me, and Vivian was the one who’d returned, I would want to know.”

The Guardian’s eyes were tormented, as if he’d heard what Damian said but was afraid he’d interpreted the comment wrong. Afraid to believe.

“Ask her, Masters,” he urged. “Tell her I said it’s okay for her to reveal if Brooke Ellis and Jolene are one and the same and if pursuing a relationship will bring you the happiness you seek.”

“Just like that, friend?”

“Just like that.”

Damian watched the Guardian walk away. The other man’s stride was slow and stiff, as if Draven fought himself and was losing the battle with his need to discover the truth.

“Sure, and you’re gettin’ soft, Aether.”

He didn’t turn to look at Fintan. “Mr. Sullivan. So glad you could finally join us.”

“Is it a romantic ya are, then?”

“You’re not going to let it be, are you?” With a sigh, he faced the Seer. Fintan appeared decades younger than his years. With a lion’s mane of hair, beefy build, and hard features, he looked half-wild. Acted it, too. “Perhaps I believe everyone should be happy. Including your surly ass.”

The man didn’t grin, but his sea-green eyes filled with wry humor. “I’ll not be after rainbows shootin’ out me arse. That’s for the likes of him.” His expression darkened. “Besides, the woman I’m fated to love will be bringin’ my downfall along with her. I’ll be avoidin’ that feckin’ trouble, I will.”

“If it’s fated…” Damian let the sentence dangle, knowing full well it would get under his skin.

“I’ll thank ya to be shuttin’ yer mouth and not cursin’ me, yeah?”

He smiled as Fintan stalked off to acquire a drink.

Ever since the tribunal, Damian’s ability to see the near future had been restored. Unlike Fintan, who received visions from his ancestors, and Beastie, who saw the past, present, and future outcomes of every situation for every person, his power was more basic in nature. He could discern things as they pertained to him and those close to him, but only within a two to five year span. Which was well enough. The Fates were always spinning their wheel and pulling their threads. The future was fluid, always evolving based on their whims.

Damian sobered. As hard as he tried, Fintan would have a difficult time avoiding Taryn or the destiny lying in wait for them. If the Seer saw his downfall at her hand, the event was farther down the road than Damian was privy to. But after the sadness attached to the lives they’d both led, Fintan and Taryn should be allowed to grasp whatever happiness they could.

With a shrug and a sip of his brandy, Damian shrugged off his melancholy.

One problem at a time. And the primary one was Soleil and who might have it out for her.