Ilona Andrews - Wildfire

“But most Primes don’t want to play,” I guessed. “Rynda could jeopardize the line.”

Rogan grimaced. “Yes and no. Some Houses would jump on the chance for variation, but most of these marriages wouldn’t be to the Head of the House. Heads of the House want their children to inherit the family throne. According to my mother, Olivia wouldn’t settle for anything less for her daughter, which is why she hated me. I ruined her perfect plan by breaking the engagement.”

“Brian offered all the right things,” I thought out loud. “He was the Head of his House. He owned a thriving corporation which would secure income for the House. He was stable, focused on safety, low-key enough to not upset Rynda with wild emotional swings, and susceptible to pressure. I bet Olivia had invested in BioCore.”

“You’re thinking like a Prime again,” Rogan said, appreciation in his eyes.

I nodded. “If he stepped out of line, she could apply pressure socially and financially. She was trying to keep her daughter safe.” Olivia must’ve loved Rynda so much.

My mother sighed. “Your world is screwed up, Rogan.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“And now my daughter is in it.” Mom put the half-unraveled scarf down. “I’ll finish in the morning.”

She left.

“It’s late for me too,” Grandma Frida declared.

“Okay, okay,” I grumbled. “We can take the hint.”

Bernard got up and shut down the equipment. The screens went black. Bug jumped off his chair and trotted outside. Rogan dipped his head to look at me. The mask slipped, and Connor was looking at me. I caught a flash of the upstairs room, with the shroud of night sky spread above us. It was quick and faint, a mere shred of projection. He must’ve crushed it the instant he thought of it, but I caught it anyway.

Come home with me.

Of course I will, Connor.

I slipped closer to him, fitting myself in his arm. “I’m tired and my feet hurt.”

He chuckled. “Want me to carry you?”

He could and probably would if I asked. “No. I have an image to maintain.”

We walked out of the motor pool. The door rumbled shut behind us.

“What image is that?”

“According to Garen, I’m a young Victoria Tremaine, terrible and glorious.”

“Would you like me to commission a golden palanquin for you?”

“Possibly.” The night sky was endless above us. “I searched Rynda’s house. I thought whatever they were looking for might be in the paintings Kyle made. It wasn’t.”

“Sorry,” he said.

“The deadline is up tomorrow at four. We still have nothing.”

“I know. One good thing came out of this mess. At least we don’t have to worry about keeping that bastard alive. They’re not going to kill him.”

“And if they do, they would be doing us a favor,” I finished.

“So vicious.”

“This is the worst betrayal. It’s worse than an affair. He’s Rynda’s husband. He didn’t even have the guts to ask for a divorce.”

“We’ll get him,” Rogan promised.

“How did it go in Austin?”

“The Ade-Afefe are thinking about it. That was the best I could do.” His voice dripped with disappointment. “You win some, you lose some.”

“Stellar day for us both, huh?”

“Yes.” He fell silent. “Shaffer is right about one thing. When it comes to assuring the hereditary stability of truthseeker talent, his genes win.”

That’s what true love looked like. Shaffer wouldn’t know it if it was staring him in the face.

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

Everything was screwed up. The deadline was almost up, and I still had nothing. Sturm wouldn’t let it go. There would be repercussions, and we had very little protection against his magic. Tomorrow I’d have to explain to Rynda that her husband most likely plotted to murder her. My evil grandmother was still trying to kidnap me. Leon still wanted to be an assassin when he grew up. The trials were growing closer.

I just wanted a break from it all. I wanted to put it away until tomorrow, because if I thought about it too much, I’d collapse like an imploded building.

We took the stairs to the second floor. I thought about the room under the night sky, and the massive bed, and him naked, his weight on me, the feel of steel-hard muscle, the way he looked at me, the intoxicating taste of his magic dripping on my skin and setting my nerves on fire . . .

“Nevada,” he said, his voice gaining a harsh edge.

“Yes?”

“Move faster.”

I let him chase me up the stairs. He caught me on the landing and kissed me. I tasted Rogan, man and coffee, inhaled the scent of sandalwood on his skin, and felt his arms around me. Magic caressed my neck, hot and velvet-soft, and then the world no longer mattered.

The morning came too soon.

“You’re lying.” Red blotches appeared on Rynda’s cheeks.

“Unfortunately, no. Everything I told you is backed up by evidence and personal accounts. Edward will verify his part in it. He didn’t lie to me.”

She looked away from me. We sat on the balcony off the second floor, as far away from any audience as we could. The raw pain on her face made me ill. I had half convinced myself that she had to have known or at least suspected that Brian was in on the whole thing. I was wrong. She had no idea. It hit her like a ton of bricks.

“Why?” she said, her voice broken. “How? How could he do this to us? To me and the kids?”

“He’s selfish and manipulative. Adults don’t run away from stress and problems. We deal with them. The first time he ran away, someone should’ve sat him down and explained to him how much he worried everyone. And then they should’ve grounded him, so he wouldn’t do it again. Instead they encouraged it and he fell into a pattern. He’s afraid of confrontations. Killing you and the kids is easier than facing Edward or dealing with the divorce. You’re the empath, Rynda. You know him better than anyone.”

“I stopped,” she said. Her eyes were haunted.

“You stopped what?”

“I stopped scanning him years ago, after Kyle was born. The indifference was too much to take. I couldn’t handle it. Indifference from him, derision from his parents, disappointment from my mother. I shut it out. I hadn’t used my talent in years.”

Not using magic was like cutting off a chunk of your soul. It must’ve hurt so much to know what Brian really felt for her. For their kids.

“The only people safe to scan are the children and . . . the children.”

And Edward. She’d almost said it.

“And I don’t need empathy to know what they are feeling. They’re my babies. I grew them inside me, and I gave birth to them. They are a part of me and a part of him. And he wants them dead. How do I tell them that?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I’m a pity fuck.”

“I’m sorry?”

Rynda turned to me, her eyes red. She was on the verge of tears. “I’m the daughter with the useless magic talent, a disappointment to my mother. She loved me, but she couldn’t hide it. An abandoned bride. A match nobody wanted because of her wild genes. A wife whose husband didn’t love her. A mother who didn’t manage to pass the right DNA to her children.”

Well, that progressed into a complete catastrophe. I had no idea what to say.

Rynda sniffed.

I got up and brought her a box of Kleenex.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be an empath. People look at you like you’re some horrible freak.”

I leaned forward. “Victoria Tremaine is my grandmother.”

Rynda drew back as if I had thrown a venomous snake on the table between us.

“I don’t need to be an empath to know you’re horrified.” I smiled.