Chapter Fifteen

Looking through the thin veneer that divided spirit realm from mortal realm always came with a strange fuzziness. A water-color appearance where everything ran together and nothing held true form. Yet as Dáire McLaine walked through the doorway to his bedroom, his laughing ladylove, Reese, swept into his arms, Solène saw happiness in perfect clarity.

What it would be like to see Taran laugh so.

Dáire nuzzled Reese’s neck playfully and dropped her on the bed. She grabbed a pillow, thwapped him over the head, then dissolved into a fit of giggles as he began to tickle her.

Solène cleared her throat and stepped from her position in the corner of the room. Using all of the strength she possessed, she willed substance into the sound, and into her form.

Dáire lifted his head with a puzzled frown. His gaze searched the room from the entryway, across to the window, and skidded to a stop on Solène. He reared off Reese like someone had thrown boiling water of his head. “Sacred ancestors, what are you doing here?”

“Good morn’, Dáire. Forgive my intrusion.” Even to her own ears, her voice held a hollow echo. She’d have to talk fast; she couldn’t hold her strength for long.

He pushed a hand through his hair in a gesture so common to the McLaine men and squinted at her. Compassion softened his startlingly blue eyes, as well as the intricate tattoos across his regal cheekbones. “Why are you here, gentle spirit? I thought you were at peace.” More quietly, as he slipped his hand into Reese’s and helped her sit upright, he asked, “Is there something I can do for you, Solène?”

A ghost. He thought she was a ghost. Solène sighed—no doubt only compounding the difficulty of her predicament. “I am not a spirit, Dáire.”

“Drandar.” He gave Reese a guarded look. “Drandar is up to something.”

“No,” Solène argued before Dáire could tread too far down that mistaken path. “Well, yes. But not in the way you imagine. It is I, Dáire. I am with Isolde, in France.” Best not to mention Taran yet.

“Isolde?” Reese asked, now scrutinizing Solène as well. “What’s going on, Dáire?”

“She’s trying to reach you. The rangers have been to your home while you were out. I’ve come on her behest.” Solène closed her eyes, flexed her fingers, and pushed more of her will to the surface. All around her the natural particles of the atmosphere pulled at her fringes, taunting her to join them in freedom, to sever the bonds that grounded her in mortality and forever roam free. She fought the uncomfortable pinpricks against her spirit, determined not to cave.

Taran…she must return to Taran…

“I…don’t understand.” Dáire patted his back pocket, then glanced at Reese. “Have you seen my phone?”

“It’s in the car.”

Dáire muttered something beneath his breath and turned toward the doorway.

“Wait,” Solène called. “I will not last long this way, Dáire. Your immediate presence is needed in the home I share with Taran. In France. Your siblings await your departure on the family jet.”

“What?” Dáire blinked. A soft, disbelieving chuckle slipped free. “This is nonsense. What troubles you, fair spirit, that you must seek my aid?”

Frustration surfaced. Solène bit it down with a grumble. “I am not a spirit. I have traversed the Astral plane to find you. You are needed, Dáire.”

As if she were the only one capable of comprehending, Reese voiced the question Solène had most prepared for. “Needed for what? And…who…are you?”

With a shake of his head, Dáire dropped onto the edge of the mattress. His voice filled with introspection. “Taran’s mistress. They lived together until he killed her.”

“Killed her? Every time I hear about Taran, I like him more.” Reese rolled her eyes. Then, as if sudden understanding crashed on her shoulders, her jaw dropped, her eyes widened, and she let out a soft, “Oh!” Her frown registered on Solène. “He loved you?”

Solène nodded. “As I do him.”

“Solène, you are an enigma I have always admired.” Dáire tipped his head to the side, his expression thoughtful. “Do tell me you have found the wisdom, if you are truly alive, to keep your distance from Taran.”

“It’s not as uncomplicated as you would wish,” Solène answered. She clasped her hands in front of her waist, and clenched her fingers to hold the rapidly churning bits of her energy into place. “I cannot stay, Dáire, but I must secure your promise to join us.”

“It’s Taran, isn’t it?” Reese asked.

“Yes,” Solène confessed. “He needs all of his siblings’ aid tonight.”

As she had expected, Dáire let out a sharp bark of laughter. “He can rot with our sire as far as I am concerned.”

At the harsh edge to his voice, Reese smoothed a hand down his back. “You doom her, if what she says is true, and she’s not a spirit.”

Dáire’s gaze drifted back to Solène. Bright blue eyes probed her wavering form as if he sought to discover the true damage he might cause by refusing to fly to France. “I would rather carve my brother into pieces and feed him to the sharks.”

Solène gave him a slow, deliberate nod. The energy required to speak was taking its toll. The less she said now, the better her chances of making it back to her body. Never again would she traverse such vast distances on so little sleep.

“I’m no fan of Taran’s, Dáire, but you can’t leave this woman to die at his hands.”

“She already did once. It isn’t my fault she didn’t stay away this time.”

A squeak of annoyance slipped off Reese’s lips. “How can you say something like that? She doesn’t deserve your refusal any more than I deserved Taran’s attack. Dáire”—she set a hand on his shoulder—“think of what you’re doing.”

He let out a harassed sigh and shook his head. When he looked at Solène again, a flicker of anger registered in his ice-blue stare. “You shouldn’t have come, Solène.”

“But you will come to us?” she asked in a rush.

“Damn it.” Dáire stood and stalked to the dresser, where he snatched a sweater from the surface. “How cold is it in Paris?”

A slow, radiant smile formed on Solène’s lips. Warmth spread through her veins, and with that heated rush, her energy slipped. She felt herself drifting, a breath away from tumbling into the realm of spirits. “I must go,” she whispered. “Before I cannot return.”

She released the energy that bound her in a static place and surrendered to the Aether pull. Little by little she tumbled, spiraling in no particular direction, buoyed on the currents of nature. She counted the seconds.

At fifteen, she squinted through the misty haze in search of the fine silver thread that tied her to the mortal plane. The guide that would lead her safely home.

When she found nothing, panic stirred. Had Drandar severed her link? Or had she, by pushing herself too far when she was already weak? Sacred elements, this couldn’t be happening. She needed to get back. To Taran. To Isolde and the ritual they would perform tonight.

As Solène’s thoughts collided frantically, she tumbled faster, drifted further. Which way, she couldn’t guess. She knew only that she was moving. And each attempt to ground herself and force her spirit to some semi-corporeal state only made her energy more chaotic. She felt the tug on her existence, felt it drawing her slowly apart.

Blackness fringed the corners of her awareness. As it crept slowly over her, engulfing her in the chill of absolute nothingness, sound obscured. In a desperate attempt to stop the uncontrolled drift, she clutched at the last bits of strength she possessed, and cried out, “Taran!”

A heavy weight pressed on her chest, pushing her down, down, down, until her back rammed into something firm and unmoving. The sensation on her breastbone doubled, a press that was neither pleasant nor painful. But she could feel the mass as if it reached through to her spine.

Bit by bit the sensation sharpened. A dull buzz rang in her ears, her fingers began to tingle. Pinpricks that felt as if someone jabbed needles beneath her nails. As she jerked against the painful stingers, her world locked into place.

With a gasp, she jerked upright off the pillow and stared up at Taran’s handsome face. His hand rested gently on her chest. “It’s okay. You’re home. Everything’s okay.”

As relief rushed through Solène, she closed her eyes and collapsed against her pillow. Her heart banged against her ribs as if she’d just finished the decathlon. Tears of gratitude welled beneath her lowered lashes. His touch had grounded her, jerked her back when she’d been more lost than she could ever remember.

Taran’s hand slipped into hers. “You’re safe, my sweet,” he whispered.

She licked her lips and swallowed to moisten her throat. “Thank you.” On a deep breath, she opened her eyes to find him gazing at her tenderly. But worry fringed the corners of his eyes—he too realized she’d drifted too long.

With a half-smile playing on his mouth, he bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll be downstairs.”

“Wait.” She clutched at his hand as he eased to his feet. “He’s coming. Dáire will be here.”

Taran gave her hand a squeeze. “Maybe there is hope for us yet.”

For him, yes. For them? Solène summoned a false smile and nodded in agreement. He turned away, and she watched his retreat. She waited until the door closed behind him, before she let the smile fade. He would know the glorious freedom from his curse as he deserved, but unless Isolde could guarantee Drandar’s destruction, Solène would not share that freedom with him.

A wave of guilt washed over her, leaving a chill in its wake. Was she doing the right thing? If all Nyamah’s ritual managed to do was lift the curse from Taran, and Drandar didn’t cease to exist, would Taran resent the decisions she’d made? His dreams of mortality had always centered on the life they would build, the old age they would know together. If she took that from him, if she sacrificed herself for Taran’s escape, would she only damn him further?

She shook off the unanswerable questions, too exhausted to dig for answers. No matter what happened tonight, she couldn’t be of any use without rest. Her body was drained, her soul even weaker, and she couldn’t begin to channel the energy or communicate with the elements in this weakened state.