Alastair swiped a hand over the scrying mirror and wiped out the image of the three people at Fennell Castle. They’d discovered his trick to save Aurora’s home. Good. A simple restoration of the study, and she could haunt the halls of her old home for as long as she wished.
“Alfred,” he called out.
His faithful manservant appeared instantly. “Yes, sir?”
“My daughter will likely show up soon. I imagine she will have my brother with her. See they are given whatever they need. The dossier on Jace Fennell is in my safe, as is the reversal spell to restore Rorie’s home.”
“Yes, sir.” Alfred bobbed his silver head. “When asked, where shall I say you’ve disappeared to?”
“Bora Bora seems nice this time of year, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed it does, sir. Very good.”
Alfred left as quickly as he’d arrived and caused Alastair to smile. His old retainer was worth every penny of his salary.
“Remind me to add a large bonus to your next paycheck, Alfred,” Alastair called to the empty room.
Alfred’s voice echoed back to him. “Consider it done, sir.”
With a soft chuckle and a small salute toward the hidden camera in the corner of the room, Alastair headed to his bedroom. He arrived to find a snifter of brandy by his favorite chair and the gas fireplace on a low setting. It produced enough light to see by.
He downed the brandy in a single fluid movement and swirled a finger to magically return the glass to the kitchen. His next order of business was a hot shower. The hope was that the heat might penetrate the coldness of his soul. Slowly, he stripped down and stepped under the spray. The high pressure of the water—his element—went a long way toward restoring his mental health. As the moisture seeped into his skin, he felt stronger, less fatigued. He continued to absorb the water as it pounded down upon him and fed his power.
A knock sounded on the bathroom door.
“What is it, Alfred?”
The door cracked open, allowing the steam to escape.
Preston walked into the room and crossed his arms over his brawny chest. His brother was a superior specimen by anyone’s standards. Even had he not had his magical powers, he’d still be intimidating to the average individual.
Tempering the urge to scowl, Alastair turned off the tap and grabbed a heated towel from the rack. “Ah, I guess it was too much to hope that you’d come for the information about Jace then leave.”
“Rorie’s a mess. She needs you.” Without a doubt, the words cost Preston to utter them.
“No, brother. She doesn’t. Nor does she want me to help her.” He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face, worn to the very fiber of his being. “She’s with you, where she belongs. I’ve only ever brought her pain.” He raised tired eyes to his brother’s concerned face. “Please, just leave me in peace now. You have all you need to find Jace.”
A deep furrow appeared between Preston’s dark auburn brows. “You sound as if you are giving up.”
“Maybe I am. I’ve accomplished most of what I’ve set out to do. Rorie is awake and once again settled at Thorne Manor. The girls all have found their mates and are on their true life path. And you have your wife back. My job here is as done as it can be.”
Alastair smiled, and he hoped to hide his desolation and despair. He should’ve stayed in the Otherworld when Lin had killed him all those years before. Instead, he’d struck a deal with Isis and returned. But the destruction he’d wrought to so many lives had not been worth his own life. Not Aurora’s and Preston’s, not Jace’s and Sylvie’s, and not his sister, GiGi’s, or her husband, Ryker’s.
“I’ve never known you to have a defeatist attitude, Al,” Preston said as he perched on the edge of the clawfoot tub. “Surely you aren’t giving up with one small setback?”
“A small setback?” Alastair snorted and snapped his fingers. Dried and dressed, he hung up the towel, then leaned against the vanity, a copy of his brother’s casual pose. Reaching back, he lifted a jar of Aurora’s favorite perfume. Idly, he removed the stopper from the small bottle of Chanel and lightly sniffed. The compilation of floral and woody base in addition to the vanilla and amber notes, when mixed with Aurora’s own pheromones, drove him wild. It was a sad reminder of what no longer was. With a bittersweet smile, he replaced the tiny bottle on the counter. “She hates me now. As well she should.”
Clarification of the “she” wasn’t needed. They both knew he referred to Aurora.
“You’re wrong. You didn’t see her reaction to being left at the manor. You also didn’t see her reaction when you saved her home.”
“Actually, I did see her reaction in the castle. It was a momentary feeling of gratitude on her part. Nothing more. After what she sacrificed on my behalf, I couldn’t bear the thought of her losing her ancestral home.” Alastair straightened and tugged on the sleeves of his dress shirt. “My debt to her is paid. As is my debt to you, Preston. Go enjoy what remains of your life together.”
“Is that all I was to you for all these years? A debt to be paid?” a raw voice asked from somewhere behind his left shoulder.
Heart hammering, Alastair blanked his features and faced Aurora. “Yes.”
“I hate you!” she screamed, and that hatred she claimed blazed in her dark gray eyes.
It hurt him to see the change in her irises. How he missed the sky-blue color and the love that used to shine brightly in them. “So you’ve said. Multiple times.” Without any outward expression other than a lifted brow, he asked, “I assume Alfred gave you the dossier on your brother? Yes? Good.”
Unable to stand another second of her contempt, Alastair teleported to the clearing by the Thorne estate. He centered himself and called out, “Isis!”
The air crackled and shifted around him. A vertical blaze of white light split the darkness in half, and the Goddess stepped through the opening. She was breathtaking in her beauty. Wavy, black hair hung to her waist. The front was upswept and set by a gold band—an indication of her rank. Kohl-lined dark eyes saw through to his soul. Isis sported a figure to make men’s mouths water. Her perfection was draped in an off-the-shoulder sheer-white gown that looked to be made of gossamer silk. As she walked forward, the moonlight caught the iridescent threads.
“Exalted One.”
“Beloved One.”
Greetings out of the way, Alastair straightened from his bow. “I’m ready to take my place by your side as per your decree when you returned me from the Otherworld.” Alastair referred to their conversation nearly thirty-two years before when she resurrected him from death at his old enemy’s hands.
“No.”
Stunned stupid, he stared. He hadn’t expected Isis’s rejection. She’d been after him to join her for years.
Her laughter echoed about the glen. “You’re not ready, my darling. You have much to do yet.”
Alastair sank to his knees before her and bowed his head. “I’m tired and ready to come home to you.”
“No,” she stated again.
“What must I do?” He despised the edge of desperation in his voice.
“You must pay the price for going behind my back and using the Book of Thoth to revive Aurora. I’ve decided you must experience love once more.”
Angry at the unfairness of her dictate, Alastair jumped to his feet. “What is this? A Thorne only loves once. You decreed it to be so. Now, I’m to go on some ridiculous journey throughout life in an attempt to find another mate, as if my feelings for Aurora never existed? Have you lost your damned mind?” His sneeze was as violent as the riot of emotions swirling inside him. He had the presence of mind to counteract the wave of locusts that were sure to follow and fisted his hand against the influx of insects.
Lightning struck the ground to his left, and the following boom of thunder was deafening. The ancient oak trees around him shook in relation to her outrage.
“You dare speak to me in that manner?”
Well, no, not if he had thought about it first. He dropped back to his knees. “I beg your forgiveness, Exalted One. I have no excuse for my behavior.”
At any second, Alastair expected to be consigned to the farthest reaches of hell. It was no less than he deserved and a fitting end to his craptastic day. Her hand on his bowed head was not what he anticipated.
“I forgive you. I’m no stranger to the pain of love. But the love you seek is yours for the taking. Aurora is still your fated mate.”
“She hates me,” he whispered brokenly.
“Does she?”
The question brought his head up, but the Goddess was already heading back toward the rift in space.
“You still owe me a sacrifice, Alastair—but you are not it.”
Not him? Alastair had spent years believing he would be the required trade for the boons Isis had granted throughout his lifetime. She disappeared through the opening before he could argue or demand to know who or what her intended sacrifice should be.
“Doesn’t that beat all?”
He rose to his feet and faced a bearded, dark-haired man.
“Ryker.” The fact that his best friend got the jump on him was one more reason Alastair felt his time was at hand. A huge part of him was uncaring of the fact. “What are you doing here, my old friend?”
“Nothing better to do, and I needed to clear my head. I’d ask about you, but I see you were conversing with Isis. How is the old broad?”
“You should ask that to her face. I’d love to see her response.”
“I’m sure it would be similar to the impressive display of elements she subjected you to,” Ryker laughed.
“So you’re back at your old homestead now? Does my sister know?”
Ryker shrugged and turned moody.
“Why, Ryker Gillespie, I believe you are still hiding from the formidable GiGi,” Alastair drawled with a half-hearted grin. He studied his friend. “Over fifteen years wasn’t long enough to be separated?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ryker growled. In his hand appeared a gold lighter. For as long as Alastair had known him, Ryker had been rubbing that old relic like a talisman. The intricate engraved pattern had been worn off by his habitual action.
“Do you ever miss the pull of a smoke?” he asked his friend, curious as to the old addiction.
“Every damned day.”
“You never went back to the Cuban cigars? It’s not like GiGi would’ve known.”
“I made a promise the day we started dating.”
“You also made a promise on your wedding day,” Alastair reminded him gravely. “And yet…”
“I’ve maintained my vows,” Ryker snapped. “Just because we live apart doesn’t mean I’m not aware of her every movement or that I’m not seeing to her welfare.”
“And how do you keep the loneliness at bay? Other women?”
“Really? You’re one to ask?”
“With the exception of the time Aurora decided to honor her marriage to Preston, I was faithful to her.”
“Why would you believe I’ve been any different?”
Alastair shook his head. Ryker had made a perfect point. “I’m sorry, my friend. I didn’t mean to question your commitment to my sister.”
Ryker flipped open the lid of his lighter and squinted into the distance. “Think nothing of it.”
Shifting closer, Alastair rested a hand on Ryker’s shoulder. “Can you not resolve your differences?”
“No. I work for the Witches’ Council. She is opposed to any organization that doesn’t allow her to run about hairy-scary, dispensing magic as if it were candy. There’s also the matter of the imagined betrayal. I can’t live with a woman who doesn’t trust me.”
Alastair could well understand Ryker’s reasoning. Wasn’t he dealing with a similar situation himself?
Ryker tapped into his thoughts like a homing pigeon to its roost. “Why are you here? I would’ve thought you and Aurora would be making up for lost time.”
Alastair laughed bitterly. “It appears she didn’t want to come back.”
“Christ!”
“Exactly. All those years I spent walking the line between right and wrong…and she doesn’t care.”
“I find that hard to believe, my friend. She took a bullet for you.”
“And she’s told me she regrets it.”
“I’m sorry, Al.”
The funny part was that Ryker sounded like he meant it. And why shouldn’t he? “We’re two peas in a pod, aren’t we, old boy?”
“Indeed we are,” Ryker agreed. “Shall we get drunk?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Alastair conjured a bottle of fifty-year-old Scotch—his drink of choice—at the same time Ryker conjured a bottle of his favorite brandy.
“To what shall we toast?” Alastair asked before taking a sip.
“How about to stubborn-ass women who don’t know what the fuck they want?”
“That’s an excellent one.”
The two men clinked the bottles together and drank from the lip of their respective decanters of alcohol.
Alastair closed his eyes and savored the smoothness of his Scotch. “Goddess, I feel I could drink this whole blasted bottle and still not numb my mind to this day I’ve had.”
Ryker snorted and guzzled more brandy. After he let out a hearty sigh, he said, “Yes, well, multiply that by about five thousand eight hundred and forty days, and you might get an idea of how well my life is progressing.”
“Our next toast should be to our ill-fated lives.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Ryker agreed with a clink of glass against glass.
Both men downed another long swallow of booze.
“To the end of Zhu Lin. May that bastard rot in hell.”
Another tap of the bottles. Another long draw of pull.
“To—”
“Well, aren’t you two a pathetic display of manhood?”
Alastair swung his head in the direction of the newcomer. His sister stood in all her elegant glory with her hands resting on her hips. The wind had picked up and stirred her long blonde tresses, along with her flowing purple dress. GiGi was a sight to behold and a force of nature in her own right.
“What is it with people sneaking up on me today?”
“You’re getting old,” Ryker muttered.
“As if you saw her coming!” Alastair retorted.
“I felt her. A distinct pain in my ass,” his friend countered, upending his brandy into his mouth.
GiGi’s indignant gasp caused Alastair’s bark of laughter. “Give over, sister. You had it coming.”
She threw one last glare at her husband then pointedly ignored him. “Preston is looking for you.”
“I’m not that difficult to find.”
“You don’t need to be an ass for the entirety of your life, Alastair.”
Ryker gained his feet to tower over GiGi. “Go away, woman. Can’t you see we’re drinking here.”
Hurt flashed in her violet-blue eyes before she quickly hid her upset. “I don’t believe I was speaking to you, you drunken fool.”
Rage, unlike Ryker had ever expressed in front of Alastair, flooded his friend’s features. “You don’t know when to shut up, do you, darlin’?” The endearment resembled more an insult to the people present.
“And you don’t know when to—”
GiGi’s comeback was cut short when Ryker hauled her close for a kiss.
Alastair decided now was the best time to bail. These two had long-overdue issues to clear up. Maybe wild monkey sex was the answer to all their problems. After all, if Ryker had gone over fifteen years without, the poor bastard had to be feeling itchy and out of sorts.
Alastair waited one more second to be sure GiGi was okay with her husband’s aggressive attentions. It appeared she was if the arms snaking around Ryker’s neck were any indication. If not, well, he was confident she could hold her own. As bitter and angry as he was, Ryker would never truly hurt the woman he loved. Not if he wanted to live another day on this green earth.
As he strolled toward Thorne Manor, Alastair strove to mentally prepare himself to see Aurora again. Without a doubt, she’d be at home when he visited Preston. If this wasn’t history repeating itself, Alastair didn’t know what was.
Thirty-two years ago he’d walked this same path, anticipating a warm welcome home. Only, he’d found his lover married to his brother with two small children clinging to her skirts. The sight of his little niece Autumn, the spitting image of his beloved little brother, had very nearly driven Alastair to his knees on the spot. His heart had cracked wide open that day.
It had taken time to heal the wounds they’d inflicted with their marriage. While those wounds had scarred over, they weren’t completely knitted together. Now, it seemed only a scab existed in place of the scar. A scab that had been ripped off when Aurora woke and declared her disdain for Alastair. Once again, his heart lay open and bleeding.
“What am I doing?” he asked aloud. “I should be heading for a tropical island somewhere. I could grow my hair and live in a bloody shack on the beach. Drink my days away and live in peace.”
But there was no peace. Not without his Rorie. It was why he’d asked Isis to take him back with her to the Otherworld tonight. He didn’t want to live in a world without Aurora’s love. He’d floated by during her stasis, believing she cared for him. She had to, right? She’d stepped in the path of a bullet meant for him. Yet now, seeing her affection turn toward hatred, well, it didn’t bear thinking about.
As he approached the estate, he paused and rested a shoulder against a giant oak that bordered the property. Maybe he was lonely or just feeling overly sentimental, but the lights of the old Victorian manor beckoned him. The house seemed alive, pulsing and full of vitality. Still, he remained where he was. Always the outsider of their perfect family. The proverbial black sheep.
With a grimace, Alastair lifted the bottle of Scotch to his lips. He needed much more fortification before walking through those majestic mahogany doors.