Chapter Sixteen

Solène eased out of the bed, determined to ignore the quivering of her legs. A glance at the nearby clock told her it was 6:20. She’d slept several hours, and still exhaustion made her groggy. Yet that very same weariness drove her from the room. Her dreams had been fitful, each a reminder of the fate that awaited her if Isolde failed. And she could not shake the guilt that came with the prospect of condemning Taran to an undesirable mortality. Worse, she needed to alert Isolde on what to expect once she began the ritual.

She trudged to the stairs and grabbed the railing. A deep breath steadied her knees and strengthened her spine. Conversation rose from below, voices she hadn’t heard in too long to count. She cocked her head to the side, listening, straining to pick Taran’s from the warm chorus. When she couldn’t, she took a tentative step down the stairs and made her way to the parlor where the noise rang the loudest.

Seated directly across from the door, beside a strikingly beautiful blonde, Belen spied her first. He set his glass down in a hurry and scrambled to his feet. Before Solène could see it coming, he had her in a bear hug and twirled her in a circle. “Little sis!”

The hearty welcoming prompted her into laughter. As the rest of Taran’s family descended around them, she pushed at his shoulders. “Set me down, oaf. Find some manners and introduce me to your…are you married yet?”

He grinned boyishly and dutifully set her on her feet. But as he opened his mouth to presumably introduce her to the woman she knew was Faith, Cian dragged her into a tight embrace. “No, he’s not. But I am. And it’s damned good to see you.”

The rest of Taran’s siblings followed suit, pulling her this way and that, welcoming her back to the living with the affection they had so freely given decades ago. When she had been mauled and kissed to death, she stepped back, laughing. Her gaze touched the faces she didn’t recognize. “Okay. I know your names. But…help me out?”

One by one the partners who had risked their lives to save the McLaine they loved introduced themselves. Cian’s wife Miranda, Belen’s fiancée Faith—he beamed when he ran an affectionate hand over her swollen belly. Rhiannon’s fiancé Mick made Solène do a double-take—he could give Taran a run for his money in the looks department. Reese, Dáire’s other half, smiled so shyly that Solène’s heart went out to her. How awkward it must be to stand in the room with this boisterous family. Beth was every bit the eclectic artist Solène knew her to be, and the way she watched Fintan displayed her heart for all to see.

Solène searched the room when Brigid didn’t edge into the mix, and found her sitting quietly on the sofa, her bare feet tucked beneath her partner Micah’s thigh. Still slightly outcast, but in her watchful gaze, Solène read a desire to fit in.

Solène approached the one sibling Taran had been closest to and enveloped her in a warm hug. “It’s good to see you, Brigid.” She lowered her voice and murmured. “I’m so happy for you.”

The tight grip of Brigid’s fingers conveyed gratitude, and she leaned away to rest her head on Micah’s shoulder. “This is Micah. You’ll like him.”

Laughing, Solène shook his hand. Indeed, if the demonologist could tame the wild Brigid, she would like him. “Welcome to my home.” Solène glanced around the room. “Have you seen Taran?”

“He went on a walk,” Angus explained from the armchair near the tall window. “Said he needed some fresh air.”

Good. She wouldn’t have to broach the subject of the ritual in front of him. Solène inclined her head toward the entryway and looked to Isolde. “Could I see you for a moment?”

“Of course.” She passed Angus a paper plate of chips and left the room.

Solène followed on her heels. In the hall, she gripped the sidecart to strengthen her still-weak legs. “Did you finish unraveling the ritual?”

“I have.” Isolde smiled bright. “There’s hope, Solène. Through the offering of shared blood, Taran will avoid death. Mortality will come to him in the power of the rite. You two have your future at last.”

A rush of tears pricked Solène’s eyes. All this time, all the years she had hoped Taran would find freedom had come to fruition. Happiness blossomed behind her ribs, but with that elated swell came a sharp twist. He would have his salvation, but their future would not occur.

“No, we won’t,” she murmured.

“What?” Isolde’s smile vanished. Concerned blue eyes probed Solène for explanations.

She looked away, at the early Mandarin vase that sat on the sidecart. “Prepare yourself for Drandar, Isolde. And Taran will need you above all the rest.”

Isolde’s fingers gripped Solène’s elbow. Her hushed voice held demand. “What are you talking about?”

Solène lifted her gaze to Isolde. “I defied Drandar. He will come for me tonight, when he is at his greatest strength. Not now when he is weak—he fears you.” She swallowed hard and blinked away the blurry picture of Isolde’s face. “I will take Nyamah’s place as his slave.”

She waited for Isolde’s expression to convey understanding. When shock lit her features, Solène knew Isolde understood what price she would pay. That she would be forced to carry on his dark line and watch her children die at his vile hands.

“Why?” Isolde’s whispered question cracked through the heavy silence. “You risked this for Taran? Sacred elements, Solène…” She trailed off with a shake of her head. Her fingers gripped Solène’s arm more tightly. “I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet…” Again she gave a disbelieving shake of her head.

“You can’t let him know, Isolde. When I am taken, don’t let him come after me. Let him think my punishment is death.”

“No,” Isolde said with conviction. “It won’t happen. I won’t allow him to take you. And if the ritual goes as planned, he will receive his felling blow before he can lay a finger on you.”

A possibility Solène longed to believe. But she’d spent too much time under Drandar’s watchful eye to think she would escape this unscathed. She laid her hand over Isolde’s and squeezed. “I would do it again for him in a heartbeat. But promise me you won’t tell him the truth.”

Isolde frowned, but she agreed with a nod. “You should be in bed still.”

“I can’t sleep any longer. My mind isn’t at peace.”

With a sympathetic smile, Isolde tucked Solène’s hand in hers and tugged her toward the shop door. “Come with me then, you watch and relax while I finish the last of the preparations.”

****

Taran walked along the path beside the riverbank, hands tucked in his pockets, gaze fixed on the pavestones beneath his well-worn boots. Could it be possible that, after over two thousand years of existence, he might know the joy of mortality? Of a life, a real life, with Solène?

It had been so long since he’d allowed the possibility to take root in his mind that he felt as if he looked upon a newborn babe. Awed. Elated. More than a little afraid. But now, as the sun began its descent across the horizon and sunset blanketed the bubbling river with vibrant color, he embraced the blessing he’d been given. He would have the one thing that had only ever mattered, and he would hold her without fear.

Still, as appealing as it all sounded, his pulse jumped nervously. He was cheating the fates. Even if Nyamah had orchestrated the events, he deserved punishment for the wrongs he had committed on innocents. There could be no good that would come of subverting the ancestors. And he couldn’t fathom how they could allow him to live.

He kicked a pebble into the water and watched the ripples expand. It was all too much to wrap his head around. Too many conflicts with what nature intended. Too many violations of the laws of balance.

And yet, his heart took wings at the thought of Solène. They would have children. Indeed, there would be many, if she were agreeable. They would have this house that once meant so much, and…

He drew in a shuddering breath, the thought so foreign it nearly shattered before it formed. He would have family once again. His siblings. Gatherings in this house, as they once had enjoyed. Feasts and rituals to celebrate the passing of the year, laughter that would echo off the tall walls and frescoed ceilings.

In a few hours he would owe his sister an eternity, and for the first time, he found he didn’t resent the prospect.

Taran looked up as a car rushed past. The horizon glowed blood red. Despite the cool breeze, warmth infused Taran’s veins. Time to return. His family had no doubt already arrived, and he still had yet to discover the precise demands of Nyamah’s last ritual.

He turned for the house, walked quickly back the way he had come. Putting off the reunion with his estranged family wouldn’t make the hours ahead any easier. He’d rather deal with the discomfort and give it time to soak in before he had to focus on magic and the powers of positive energy that made his skin crawl.

His hand shook as he reached for the front doorknob, and he clenched his jaw in annoyance. There was no reason to be nervous. He had grown up with the people inside. Known them for centuries. Moreover, this was his home.

With a deep breath, Taran opened the door. Voices filled the hall, soft laughter emanated from the parlor. He followed the sound and walked in on a scene that stole the breath from his lungs. They all looked so happy. So at peace, despite what they had been through, what loomed ahead.

A shock of long red hair caught his attention, and he turned to find Brigid approaching his side. A warm smile lighted her face and animated the tattoo on her forehead that she hadn’t possessed the last time he saw her.

“Taran.”

The one simple word said more than any lengthy greeting, and the comforting hug she gave him broke off the particles of ice that clung to his insides. He hugged her back, truly glad to see the sister who he related to the best. After all, they had shared the same dark path, even if their reasons differed.

“Where’s Solène?” he asked.

“With Isolde somewhere. Come sit down. Meet Micah…and the rest.”

He didn’t have much choice. Her direct path across the room had drawn attention, and the rest of his siblings now looked on in curious quiet. Dáire’s frown registered the deepest, and Taran stepped away from Brigid. “A moment.”

Avoiding the others, Taran deliberately made his way toward Reese. As he approached, Dáire moved in front of her. His blue eyes held warning, the firm set of his jaw told Taran to stay away. He stopped and held Dáire’s gaze. Silence spanned between them, a quiet that hushed their siblings entirely. Time stood still as Taran waited for Dáire to speak.

When his younger sibling did nothing but stand ramrod straight in front of the woman Taran wanted to speak to, Taran stepped sideways around Dáire and halted before Reese. He cleared his throat, his words having vanished somewhere into the oppressive stillness. “Reese,” he murmured.

Her gaze flicked to Dáire, then back to Taran. Apprehension registered in the stiffening of her posture.

And with that slight tension, the barricade around Taran’s thoughts gave way. Words rushed into cohesive speech. “I am sorry. There is no…excuse. Only regret.”

At the far corners of her mouth a smile struggled. It disappeared as quickly as the muscles twitched, but it was enough for Taran. A start that he didn’t expect to resolve through anything but time.

Dáire’s hand fell on his shoulder, firm pressure turning him about. Taran braced against the contact, certain once again he would meet the pounding fury of his brother’s fist. Instead, Dáire gave him a brotherly thump to the shoulder blades, the way he always had when they were young. No hugs. Just affectionate beatings.

Taran’s throat closed as he met the understanding written into his siblings’ expressions. They had come here for him. To help him shed the curse he despised. To save Solène, the woman they had adored, though they had all at one time or another tried to warn her away.

It was all too much to process. Before emotion could grip him by the balls and turn him into a fool, he swallowed hard and choked out, “Excuse me.”

On swift steps he left the parlor, desperately in need of the solace Solène’s arms offered. Craving the only thing he could understand.