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With a tear-worn face and a bruised heart, I summon enough strength to propel me out of my room in the blink of an eye. Only Dalcour’s movements slightly parry my own, and I am surprised even he can’t fully match my pace. While I can’t see him, I know that Jackson isn’t far behind as his brash scent of cinnamon trails Dalcour’s ever powerful fragrance of jasmine and lavender. Aunt Delia’s sobbing rings aloud in my ears as she cries my name, but even her pleas do little to calm the hurling fury within.
As my force leads me through the halls of the mansion, I can’t help but notice something feels different. My motion is more fluid than I recall. The energy within me doesn’t feel as chaotic as it once did. There is a symmetry to my movements unlike anything I’ve felt before. Not only do my feet not touch the ground, but there is now a weightlessness to my body reminiscent of a flower blowing in Spring’s breeze. Yet, despite my newfound buoyancy, I still feel tethered to the ground.
All my thoughts are of my precious cousin Dacari. Awakening to the news that she is gone has invoked an anguish to my soul I have never known. I long for the times when my heart only dropped to the pit of my stomach—because at least I was still in control. Or at least so I thought. But now it’s as though a cobra has coiled its body around my heart and is squeezing the very life from me.
My tunnel vision-like motion leads me through the kitchen, where the French doors swing open with the brush of wind I emit at my will. While I am surprised to uncover this recent addition to my supernatural repertoire, I don’t linger or try to understand its meaning or the how of it all. It doesn’t matter. The only question that plagues my heart is one thing: Where is Dacari?
Darkness fills the morning sky as thick dark clouds cover what was once the making of a bright, sun shining day. Sounds of the chirping birds I heard at my awakening are now replaced with the rush of howling winds and a thunderous sky. Thickly coated tears shield the circumference of my eyes, blocking my view from anything other than my pain.
I want to scream, but I cannot. My vocal cords are still frothy from my unconscious respite; another issue I want to explore, but not as expedient as the whereabouts of my cousin. Knots form in the pit of my stomach like a forge of rocks encasing a dam, draining me of strength and vitality all at once.
I grab the iron bars along the deck to steady my motion and keep myself from falling as I take a deep breath and close my eyelids shut tight, hopeful to allow the standing tears their escape. Although, I immediately regret that decision once the diamond-like stream hits my cheek, tearing into my flesh like tiny paper cuts at its freefall. Grinding my teeth, I squeeze the railing tighter as the pain of my own tears aids no comfort to my plight.
“Damina,” I hear Dalcour call my name softly from behind. His alluring fragrance hits my nose just as he says my name, yet I am saddened to find it does little to quiet the raging storm within me. Oh, how I long for the times when just his aroma was enough to calm my storm, but it is not this day.
Once more, I hear my name called through the whipping and whistling sounds of the wind. But this time the wind carries with it the spicy and sweet aroma only found in Jackson Nash. I am surprised when the cool call of Jackson’s voice aids to recharge the faint pulse of my heart, all while loosening the hardness forming within the pit of my being. And with that, I exhale and release the toxic fumes rummaging inside me.
Even now, I am yet amazed of the effect of Jackson Nash.
Turning slowly, I see Jackson and Dalcour standing just beyond the French doors while Aunt Delia remains postured between them but still at the threshold of the kitchen. Both men stare at me with longing eyes and endearing smiles that would melt my heart if it were not decaying from within. But I am strangely thankful for the pause this anguish has given me from the tug-of-war between these two stallions that inevitably awaits me.
“Darling, I’m so sorry to drop that on you so fast. I—I just didn’t know how—” Aunt Delia’s pained voice rips through me and I feel the knots reshape in my gut once more. Jackson turns as if he wants to comfort my aunt but is hesitant to leave my view. He gestures his hand toward me, parting his lips to speak, but Dalcour’s tone rings loudest, beating Jackson to the punch.
“Beautiful, we all wish there were a better way to tell you the news. But in these types of situations, there’s just no good way to say it.” While Dalcour’s broad attempt to speak over Jackson is clear, there is no condescension in his voice only a gentle care in his eyes.
“But know Damina, all is not lost.” Jackson’s words slice through the would-be enticing pull of Dalcour as we lock eyes with one another. Whether it was the thickening of Dalcour’s aromatic presence or the syrupy and sultry sound of his voice, Jackson’s clipped tone ensured he would not allow Dalcour’s allure to take over on his watch.
“What do you mean?” I quickly question as the reality of Jackson’s confession rips me from the enchanted eyes of Dalcour Marchand.
“He means she’s not dead,” Dalcour pointedly responds, aware of Jackson’s intent. He shoots a wary glance in Jackson’s direction, but Jackson’s eyes remain fixed on me.
I exhale once more as relief takes over and belt out a loud sigh, yet still keeping a tight hold on the railing with one hand.
“Explain,” I mutter, gazing at the watchful eyes of Aunt Delia. She shakes her head in reply as a waterfall of tears pours down her face. Jackson looks between Dalcour and I with a tight and grim glare but resolves to pull my tearful aunt to his side, allowing her to cry on his shoulder.
“Beautiful,” Dalcour begins, recapturing my attention. “Your aunt wasn’t here when everything happened. You must understand this news is just as alarming to her as it is to you.” Although I know he is trying to redirect my rage away from my aunt, I can’t help the burning antipathy I feel toward her.
“Explain,” I whisper my words once more through the whipping winds and crackling sky.
“Perhaps we could all talk about it if you can just temper your storm a bit,” Dalcour shouts over the sounds of the thunderous skies and thick gray clouds hovering over the mansion with his eyes locked on the decorated darkness behind me.
For the first time, Dalcour’s words do nothing but irritate me further. I release my grip from the railing and allow the fervor of my fury to carry me high above the garden maze of the mansion as the sky rumbles in response. My head writhes with both pain and frustration. All I want to do is scream, but the frothiness of my throat prevents me from lifting my voice above a whisper.
Dalcour jumps to the side of the railing, balancing himself perfectly against the wind while lifting a cautionary wave in my direction. “Beautiful, come back to me. Let’s go in the house and talk about this. Together,” Dalcour says with a trembling echo in his voice I’ve never heard before. He gazes at me carefully, looking over my shoulder at the small beam of sunlight piercing through the clouds aimed just an inch from his shadow. He sides steps, so he is in front of me and away from the sun. I can’t help wondering whether he has lost his ability to walk in the sun.
His trepidation does little to quiet my storm. With every sniffle and shriek from Aunt Delia, I am repeatedly reminded of her treachery. How could she keep the truth of our heritage hidden all these years? What good did she think would come of her actions? Did she ever consider what news like this would do? And now with Dacari gone, I have only one person to place blame. Aunt Delia.
“Damina, baby, Dalcour is right, let’s talk about this—inside.” Jackson leaves my aunt’s side and stands tall against the direct sunlight. Although I can tell he is trying to be gentle, Jackson’s commanding tone is as pronounced as ever. Yet, I am surprised that I am not immediately irritated at his rebuke; rather, his voice is more calming than I would expect. His eyes plead with me to settle my rage, but it is the way his warm and perfect smile follows his words that ease the suffering of my heart.
At least a little.
Jackson’s eyes lock with mine and I now see in him what I hadn’t before. I see him. His wolf. His protection. His love. Everything that is Jackson Nash is carried in the tide of his sea-like emerald eyes. If it weren’t for the calamity of my heart, I would give anything to dive in and immerse myself in his embrace.
The knots in my stomach uncoil, and I feel the heat of the sun at my back. I watch as Jackson steps further into the sunlight, smiling at me as I drift down toward him. Yet, despite his draw, it is Dalcour’s warm and sturdy hand that grabs my forearm, steadying my descent.
“I’ve got you, Beautiful,” Dalcour says as his aromatic scent implodes in the tight space between us while he grips me in his arms, placing me gently on the deck floor. Although his hands are firmly at my waist, his body remains a few inches apart. Just enough to let me know he’s near, but not enough that our bodies touch. “Are you okay?” Dalcour questions taking my chin in his hand ensuring our eyes connect. He smiles and my body rivets as my eyes trail the alluring curl of his mustache against his supple raspberry-coated lips. In that instant I am reminded of the intoxicating enchantment of Dalcour Marchand, and I gently pull his hands from my waist before I lose myself in him.
My body shakes as he releases his hold, and I recall just how painful it is to be apart from him once we touch. A wave of nausea comes over me as I regret pulling away from Dalcour, but Aunt Delia’s quiet sobbing echoes loud in my ear, drawing me back to the core of my grief. Dacari.
“Let’s talk.” My tone is sharper than I intend as I keep my gaze fixed on my aunt, fearful of being entranced by the watchful gaze of either man at my side.
Aunt Delia nods her head in reply, wiping her cheek and squaring her shoulder, unwilling to appear weak for too long, she turns and walks toward the great room.
Jackson and Dalcour mirror my steps closely as I follow behind Aunt Delia. She paces back and forth in front of the fireplace before taking a seat in a wooden chivari chair near the tall glass candelabras to her left. Her constant pacing makes me anxious, so I plop into a large leather chaise opposite the fireplace.
Gazing around the room, I notice something feels different. There are more chivari chairs here than I recall, with small black wooden dinette tables to match. I look behind me into the kitchen and see framed menus hung on the wall and pub height stools perched at the counter side of the island. Unlike the home-like state of the mansion before my slumber, it now feels more commercial and boutique-like.
I don’t have time to ponder the new aesthetics now arrayed before me when Aunt Delia offers a faux cough, turning my direction back to her.
“I suppose I don’t know where to begin, darling. But I suppose you have a lot of questions to ask of me,” Aunt Delia begins in an unusually distilled tone. As I watch her grief-stricken face while she speaks, my heart immediately aches for her. I know I am not the only one hurting. I can only imagine the painful state churning within her. Yet, her pain does little to squelch my churning rage. I am still mad at her.
“What happened?” I whisper, taking my attention away from Aunt Delia’s pain-staked face and shooting fleeting glances to both Dalcour and Jackson. “Well, don’t you all speak at once!” I demand as I stare at their downcast faces. It’s apparent that neither want to be the bearers of bad news as they exchange grimaces with one another.
“You saved me, that’s what happened,” Jackson blurts. He saunters in front of the fireplace and leans against the shelving along its edge. I don’t think I’d noticed how handsome he looked since I had awakened. I’m surprised he’s not adorned in his typical suit and tie. He’s wearing jeans! This is a shocker! The dark denim jeans and fitted silver tee accentuate his form in all the right places. Dalcour forcibly clears his throat behind me and I quickly trail my eyes past Jackson’s chiseled biceps back up to his perfect smile that awaits me.
“How do you mean?” I reply rubbing my eyes trying to regain my focus.
“When I came to, there was a blinding, bright golden light covering us and shining throughout the room and there you were laying in my arms. You were so still and cold, but there was also an intense heat radiating from the light you were emitting like I’d never felt before. It was like the sun. Every injury I had completely healed, and though I wasn’t sure how, I knew it was all because of you.”
As Jackson speaks, jolting memories of that night flicker through my mind. I remember more about that night than I care to recall. Fighting both Scourges and Skull throughout the mansion. Dauphine’s death. Kieron’s treachery. But it is the memory of Mikkel plunging a sword through Jackson’s abdomen that shreds my heart in two. I know it was the thought of a world without Jackson Nash that unleashed a power inside me I never thought capable. More than that, I know it was the love I have for him that made such a power permissible. And in that I have no regret.
Jackson smiles at me as our eyes meet as though he could see into my soul. I wonder whether he, too, can read my thoughts like Dalcour. But it doesn’t matter. If he never knew how I felt for him, I would hope that night gave him every assurance.
Though it still does little to bring me total relief. As the true matter at hand, the means of Dacari’s disappearance have yet to come forward.
“And what about Dacari?” I answer quickly, forcing thoughts of my love for Jackson aside.
“Well, I guess that’s where I come in,” Dalcour interjects pushing through the budding thick space between Jackson and me. He strolls in front of my view, ensuring not to block my sights of Jackson yet brushing past me just enough that I capture his jasmine and lavender scent. As my eyes drift up to meet his, I can’t help but be dazzled by his charming and almost giddy smile and the way it instantly lifts my mood.
How does he do that?
“When Mark, Braelyn and I reached the parlor, the brightness of your light was too much for even us to bear. Scorching heat instantly rose from both me and Braelyn at the threshold. I could only withstand just a step across the door before my skin simmered. Thankfully, Mark pushed us away from the door—”
“If I recall, Gregory was there with his aid,” Jackson snips in a coy tone to which Dalcour only shrugs his shoulders and huffs.
“Why yes, I suppose the mutt offered some help,” Dalcour replies over his shoulders without taking his eyes off me. “As I was saying, once the wolves, that is Gregory and Mark, came to our aid, they could get you and Lord Nashoba out of the parlor. But by the time they got you to your room, your light diminished. And to be honest, we were afraid we were too late. You were so—so cold. Still.”
Dalcour stares at me with a haunting gaze as I watch him in awe while his memories of my eerily laid body lay still before him and Jackson flash through my mind. A pounding thud jolts through my head, more intense than any headache I’ve ever had when I suddenly realize somehow, I have glimpsed Dalcour’s mind.
“Damina, darling, are you okay?” Aunt Delia asks as the coolness of her tone tears me from the replay of Dalcour’s memory.
“Yes,” I reply quickly, brushing Dalcour’s intrusive thoughts aside. He gazes at me, narrowing his eyes, likely knowing I just read his thoughts. He parts his lips to speak, but I break through the silence before he can form his words. I don’t want to discuss me right now. “Okay, but what happened next? What happened to Dacari?”
“Well baby, once Vonnie checked your pulse and vibed you, she let us know that you were just in a deep sleep,” Jackson begins. I can’t help but be distracted by the fact Vonnie vibed me and I softly repeat the word. Still, I refuse to linger on any issue of me and return my attention back to Jackson. “But when Dacari saw you laying so still she went into a panic. She screamed at all of us, throwing each of us out of the room. She only allowed Brian and Brae to stay with her for a little while before she eventually kicked them out too.”
“To be honest, I was shocked such a small person could throw two guys out at once. I have to say I was impressed. My pride was slightly injured, but I was impressed just the same,” Dalcour jokingly mutters.
“Do you mean she actually threw you out?”
“Yep, baby, she did. You two are definitely related. It felt like my backyard all over again,” Jackson answers. Though I know he’s trying to play it down, I find no joy in knowing how I flung him across his own yard as I yielded to my rage.
“For two days Vonnie and Brian took turns standing guard at the door,” Dalcour’s tone is dark as he speaks, and his voice drops an octave while his gaze darkens as he recounts the events of that night. Tiny sparks tear once more into my mind, but I work hard to steady my breathing. I can’t allow even this writhing pain to distract me now. Jackson forcibly clears his throat to get my attention, giving me just the distraction to look at him and break from the intense energy I feel from Dalcour. Jackson shoots me a warm, soft smile that meets his eyes. “Dacari refused food. She even refused to speak with anyone. She only demanded that we get your aunt here, stat. That’s why we found it strange that on the morning your aunt arrived, Dacari disappeared. No one saw her leave and all her things were gone.”
“Was she taken?”
“No, darling, it doesn’t appear so. You know more than anyone your cousin would’ve put up quite a fuss and fight. No, I think she left on her own. I’m sure the thought of seeing me after everything was too much to bear.” Aunt Delia allows a half-smile to drape her face, but it is unconvincing. Typical of my aunt, she is trying to stay strong, but I know better.
“Then I don’t understand. If no one took her how could she possibly escape? Under your noses? On your watch? How is any of this possible?” I shout through the cringing crackle of my hoarse throat. I jump from my seat as I feel heat rise from my body and blue embers of light radiate through me.
“Beautiful, that’s what we’re all trying to figure out!” Dalcour shouts back. I’m surprised at the defensive stance he’s taken, but I know he’s not backing down.
“Look, we all need to stay level-headed here. Baby, now that you’re awake, you can help us make some sense of everything. Mark and Brian have used every resource to track her down. Braelyn has done everything from keeping this place together to playing a bit of CSI to locate her. And Lord Marchand has every legion of his Guard on watch.”
“And you?” I mutter hardly above a whisper as the truth of Jackson’s words whip me back to my seat. Jackson only smiles in reply, but it is the gentleness of his eyes that reins in my rage.
“I’m afraid Lord Nashoba is too modest to confess that he’s hardly had a goodnight’s rest himself since he’s been perched at your bedside and consoling your aunt all while training up the next young Alpha to lead the city,” Dalcour says in a soft voice as he steps to Jackson’s side, gripping his shoulder.
Although I’m comforted that the two have bartered a truce since my respite, it does little to bring me comfort.
“Well, do you have any leads? I mean, it’s been over a month. Dal, doesn’t this place have a security system or something?” I hate that I’m barking my words, but my irritation is growing with every minute.
“That’s just it,” Dalcour begins as he steps aside from the shards of light beaming through the cracks of the wooden blinds. “All my systems went offline for a few hours the night she left. We don’t have any viable footage of her departure—at least not yet.”
“What do you mean, not yet?”
“Braelyn has been looking into it. She even snagged a few forgotten favors from the police to get street cameras from the night in question. It’s been a slow push, but she’s been diligent,” Dalcour answers with a hint of pride.
A smile escapes from behind my otherwise gloomy disposition as I think of Brae’s unrelenting prowess. I know she’ll never give up her quest.
“So you see, darling, everyone here is doing everything possible to locate Dacari. But I know you probably blame me for all of this—and I suppose I would understand why,” Aunt Delia bluntly confesses, cutting through my brief musing of Brae’s relentless spirit.
“Now, there’s enough blame to go around, Delia, but right now our focus must be on Dacari. Isn’t that right, Damina?” Jackson replies in his typical overstepping and slightly rebuking tone.
“Well, since you bring it up,” I abruptly snap, turning my attention away from Jackson. I refuse to let him dictate my feelings, even if he’s only playing the broker of peace. “Tell me, Aunt Delia, why didn’t you tell Dacari and I the truth all this time? You had to know you couldn’t keep this up forever. I mean, when I woke up today, I had no thought of drudging this up now—”
“Then it can surely wait—” Jackson interrupts.
“No, it can’t! It’s been long enough! Even when I saw father in my dreams, he was never clear about why you all kept this a secret for so long. And who knows, perhaps Dacari figured out something that even I still don’t know. What do you think, auntie? Care to elaborate? Care to add something of worth to the story?”
Both Dalcour and Jackson shout my name, protesting in unison to my now testy tone. Yet, I pay neither of them any mind. It’s time my aunt owned her part in all this.
“Let her speak. My niece has every right to be upset with me. I am so deeply sorry, Damina. Truly, I am. Your grandmother and I had planned to tell you the day she died. And well, after her death it just got harder and harder to get enough courage to tell you. We never committed to a pack in Washington, so we were alone mostly, until you met Jackson. And well, things were just going so well for you, and for once you were finally happy. Once we came under the protection of his pack and he received the blessing from the Duacin elders I had hoped everything would be okay.”
“Right because now you had Jackson to lie for you. Isn’t that right, auntie? Jackson told you he wanted to tell me the truth, and you begged him not to go through with it. Why? You are my family! I trusted you with everything—and now look at the mess we’ve all made. Yes, I say we because I include myself. Dacari begged me to stay, not to run—but I just couldn’t help myself. I just had to go because I couldn’t live in a world where either of you two were harmed or worse. Now she’s gone and we’re all to blame!”
“Well as much as I’d like to cave and take the blame for you loving me the way you do, Beautiful, I won’t. Because as much as I know it pains you to accept it, it must be said: Dacari left on her own accord.”
How dare you? The thought immediately springs into my mind at Dalcour’s words, but only my expression echoes in reply and I am sure Dalcour is keenly aware.
“It’s the truth and you know it. She left for one reason or another. Even though it is clear you all are used to treating her as if she were a porcelain doll, she is not. She’s a woman. A grown woman who decided on her twenty-fifth birthday to leave. Perhaps she is trying to teach you both a lesson, I don’t know. But one thing is clear: I will go to whatever end to help you find her and bring her to safety.”
While I am thankful for the softened tone near the conclusion of Dalcour’s rant, I remain irritated that he is holding my cousin solely responsible for her disappearance. More so because I know of everyone in this room, he alone can read my thoughts and knows I fault my endearing love for both he and Jackson as the cause of it all.
“Blame me, Damina,” Aunt Delia begins as she rises from her seat, once again squaring her shoulders, refusing to shrink even in the face of her own shame. “After all his gracious hospitality, please do not blame Lord Marchand and certainly not Jackson! I and I alone held the key to the secrets of our family. I could have told you. I should have told you both the truth. I didn’t. For that I am sorry.”
“There will be ample time for apologies and truth bearing once we find Dacari,” Jackson asserts before I can counter my aunt once more. Although a part of me wants to challenge her with one more dig, the calmness of Jackson’s tone simmers my growing rage. He smiles at me softly, lowering his eyes and bowing his head slightly so that our eyes meet.
Now, more than ever, I am convinced that Jackson alone is capable of not only weathering my storm but controlling it wholly.
“Ah-hem!” The loud belting of Dalcour’s faux cough serves its purpose, breaking the growing lure between Jackson and me.
A small, bashful smile crosses Jackson’s face. I’m sure he’s quite pleased with himself. He knows he still has a jarring effect on my heart. Dalcour saunters in front of the fireplace and stands between Jackson and Aunt Delia, no doubt a ploy to recapture my attention. Oh, how I wish he knew he never lost it.
“Then might I suggest we take Damina to the one person who has the answers we seek,” Dalcour says in a low throaty tone.
“No, it’s too soon!” Aunt Delia exclaims.
The softness of Jackson’s face gives way to a rebuking glare in Dalcour’s direction, and the pace of my heart quickens. Both my aunt and Jackson appear appalled at Dalcour’s suggestion, allowing my impulsive rage to rekindle within me once more.
“Absolutely not!” Jackson shouts.
“Wait, who has the answers? Tell me, Dalcour!” I answer, rising to my feet.
“Jackson’s treacherous brother. Let’s go see Keiron.”