Chapter Seven

As Taran’s silhouette disappeared down the narrow alley, Solène backed away from the lightweight sheers. She tightened the belt on her robe and sat on the edge of the bed, her heart heavy. Nothing had ever been more impossible than keeping the scroll from Taran, or the reasons why she couldn’t turn it over. Everything she was screamed in outrage, demanding she defy Drandar and confess to Taran so he might have some understanding.

Instead, circumstance forced her to use his own guilt against him and drive him away with the foul remembrance of what he had done the last night they slept in each other’s arms.

She sighed. Nothing to do for it now. Samhain would come two nights from now. Dawn would bring Isolde, and with luck, the answers to the cryptic alterations in Nyamah’s magic. For now, she needed sleep. Without rest, she’d be useless if Isolde needed her to draw on the darker energies of nature.

Solène turned off the lamp on the nightstand and stretched out on her bed. Sleep indeed—though how she’d accomplish that with Taran’s scent still clinging to her skin, she wasn’t certain.

A chill filtered through the room, drawing her breathing to a sharp halt. She laid in the dark, unmoving, every particle of her awareness attuned to the subtle shift in the atmosphere. He couldn’t be here. He’d promised not to come, promised to give her the time she needed.

Surely, Drandar couldn’t read her mind. He couldn’t possibly be aware she intended to turn against him.

His presence gathered, creating a rend in the intangible matter that filled her bedroom. Bit by bit, he crossed the void between planes of existence. One-by-one, goose bumps rippled down her spine.

“Solène, you cannot fool me. You are awake. Now sit and address me properly.”

Sheer force of will allowed her to choke down a rising groan. She inched upright, propped the pillows behind her, and folded the lapels on her robe clear up to her neck. Warily, she lifted her gaze to the daunting figure that stood at the foot of her bed. The moonlight danced in his long ebony hair, adding beauty to a face that was otherwise stern and unforgiving. His dark eyes met hers, cold and as hard as shards of coal.

A slow, arrogant smirk crept across his sensual mouth. “I see you have enjoyed yourself with my son. You may thank me now, if you wish.”

If she wished—like she had a choice. Playing the dutiful servant, she nodded and murmured, “Thank you for allowing it.”

Drandar moved around the footboard to stand in front of her. Slender fingers cupped her chin, tipped her face a breath away from his. “A pity I did not get to witness how my bride prefers her pleasure.”

Despite herself, she shuddered. Willing the revulsion out of her voice, she looked him boldly in the eye. “I will not be yours.”

With a scathing laugh, he straightened. “You will fail in our agreement, Solène. It is only a matter of time. You cannot stand to see Taran suffer as he deserves. You will break, and you will tell him.” His smirk returned. “I am counting on it.”

“I would take my own life before I allowed you to touch me, Drandar.”

Drandar strolled to the window. “Do try. It will be infinitesimally gratifying to bring you to life time and again.” He pushed the sheers aside, braced a shoulder on the tall frame, and stared at the street beyond. “It will give me reason to kill him when he is mortal as well.” His gaze slid to hers. “Or have you forgotten that end of our arrangement?”

Forgotten? They had never discussed this twist before. Rage sparked, crept slowly up her throat. She held it in, only biting out through clenched teeth, “What rules have you changed now?”

Folding his arms across his chest, he braced his back on the wall and chuckled. “It occurs to me your affection for my cowardly son might be greater than I originally considered. Therefore, it is in my distinct advantage to alter my conditions. If he does not perform the ritual as I have designed it, not only will you serve my needs and provide me offspring, but Taran will die the moment he takes a mortal’s breath.”

It took every bit of self control Solène possessed to hold in a gasp. “You…can’t,” she argued flatly.

“Who is to stop me?” His low laugh echoed through the room. “You? When you are stripped of your ability to call on the energies?” In a blink, his amusement vanished, and his features became as harsh as chiseled stone. “Think of it this way, Solène. You give me what I desire, and you will have him for eternity. He cannot die; I will insure the same for you. If you act against me, you will live day, after day, after never-ending day without him.”

Her throat tightened by another vicious degree. Damn Taran to an eternity of misery, or damn him to death the moment he found salvation. An impossible decision—Drandar knew exactly what he asked.

His smile widened as he pushed off the wall and crossed to her once more. Cold, lifeless lips pressed against her forehead. “Consider your options and choose wisely.”

Before Solène could squeak in outrage, the atmosphere churned, and Drandar dissipated into the void that spawned him. A shudder seized her shoulders. Revulsion coiled her stomach into a tight ball. Not only had Drandar planned Taran’s eternal destruction, but hers as well. Whichever she chose would create her own infinite misery.

In a frantic rush, she threw the quilt aside and made a mad dash to the scroll she’d stuffed inside the old trunk near the vanity. She knew the Selgovae language, damn it. She was no weak vessel incapable of channeling the magic within the runes. If she could undo Drandar’s poison, Taran’s siblings could protect him. Isolde with their mother’s might; Rhiannon with the gift of healing—somehow, someway Solène would insure his siblings looked after him. Then she would accept her penance. Taran would never discover the price she agreed to, but knowing he found freedom from his sire’s curse, freedom to live his life unafflicted, would be enough to carry her through whatever despicable designs Drandar intended.

“Oh, Taran,” she whispered.

Despair wrapped cold fingers around her heart, and Solène clutched the scroll to her breast, fighting the hot rise of tears. All he had ever wanted was an escape from the madness of his curse. All he had ever wished for was the discovery of Nyamah’s scrolls. Now they were found, the last his for the taking, and nothing was as they had once planned. There would be no future for them.

And tonight, she had pushed an even greater wedge between them by reminding him of his murderous act and deliberately hurting him. Just so he would leave. So she wouldn’t have to lie and deny him the one magical rite he had waited centuries to find.

A tear slid down her cheek, and she closed her eyes. His handsome face rose to the forefront of her memory, the anguish in his eyes glinted like dying stars. Even now, the bond that tied them together tethered her to his despair. To the self-loathing that churned inside his divided soul.

She let her thoughts go, allowed her own energy to wander the same way she’d done so many nights since Drandar dragged her back to life. With slow, measured breaths, Solène released her conscious hold on the inanimate objects that surrounded her and reached out to Taran the only way she knew how. And there, among the ancestors in the Astral plane, she could sleep within his arms. In dreams, nothing could divide them. Take comfort in the only brief escape they could claim.

Only, when her spirit slipped beyond the walls that held her, and she drifted to Taran’s slumbering side, he tossed fitfully on the bed. The sheets tangled around his body. A fine sheen of perspiration shone on his brow. He murmured something unintelligible and rolled onto his side.

As he did each night.

Knowing he would not answer, she called to him with her mind. Taran. Take my hand. Come with me.

A groan issued from his lips, and he tossed his head side to side. Her heart twisted at his soul’s torment. For a split second she debated yanking him to her side just to ease whatever nightmares plagued him. But doing so defied the laws of nature and could disrupt her favor with the energies of life.

Instead, she pushed herself to the limits of her abilities and set her hand over his. I’m here, Taran. If you can hear me, I’m right here.

He hadn’t heard her in the year since she’d been back. Nor would he tonight.