“No, don’t be silly.”
Kett relaxed.
“I’d put you in silver, like that dress you had for the ball. Beyla would wear pink.”
Kett began to back away.
“Kett, you have to be my bridesmaid, you’re my sister!”
“Half-sister,” Kett reminded her, “and most definitely not a maid.”
This only sent Eithne into peals of laughter. Kett backed toward the door and made a run for it.
Her whole family was mad. Completely insane. What the hell was Bael thinking, getting involved with her after he’d met them all? It ought to send any sane man running.
Of course, Bael wasn’t sane. That was probably the answer. He probably thought her family was normal.
She ended up in the summerhouse, which in the middle of winter was freezing cold and smelled of dampness. But it was silent, and the view across the rainy gardens was incredibly peaceful. She found a blanket, packed in a chest with dried oranges keeping it sweet-scented, and wrapped herself up on one of the sofas.
She made lists first, then got out her scryer and started calling. First up was Striker, who answered looking sleepy, smug and shirtless. Kett suspected he was probably naked, but for once in her life the prospect didn’t excite her even a tiny bit.
“Pet,” he said, his intonation somehow implying that it was less of an endearment and more of a description.
“Striker. I need a favor.”
He shrugged. “Nah. Don’t fancy it.”
“You haven’t heard what it is yet. It comes with an aftermath of death and destruction.”
He smiled. “I’m listening.”
After Striker, she called Tyra, the librarian of the Order. “I’ve got a handle on the Federación. A ringleader, although I suspect he’s just one of many.”
“Perhaps we can torture him for information,” Tyra said, as if she was just suggesting a polite conversation.
“Yeah. Well, Striker’s on board, so that’s a strong possibility,” Kett said. “But this Albhar’s got a lot of followers. We’re going to need some muscle.”
“Leave it to me,” Tyra said.
She was hesitating over the third call when a shadow outside the summerhouse caught her attention. The sky had turned dark, and the single lamp Kett had brought with her didn’t illuminate anything beyond the summerhouse walls.
But she didn’t need to see to know who it was. “Bael?”
The door opened and he stood there, hands in pockets, shivering slightly.
“Close the bloody door, fathead.” Kett drew the blanket closer around herself. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged, clicking the door closed behind him. “Looking for you. Well, actually, looking for somewhere I wasn’t going to get pulled into discussions about curtains or weddings or terrible, terrible pianoforte-playing skills.”
Kett grimaced. “Giselle?”
“How can someone so graceful play so badly?” She smiled and Bael came closer. “You look frozen.”
“Yeah.” Kett glanced at the small fireplace, which was cold and empty. The summerhouse was set up like a little rustic cottage-or at least, Nuala’s idea of what a rustic cottage should look like. It at least came equipped with a stone fireplace and thick, woven blankets for chillier days. But the fireplace had been swept clean and not re-laid.
“I could warm you up.” His eyes were hot.
“Nice of you to offer, but I’m kinda busy.”
Bael raised one eyebrow and glanced at the fireplace.
A ball of flame whooshed into life, hovering above the empty grate. Kett stared at it, feeling the heat starting to seep toward her.
“How-how did-? What the fuck, Bael?”
He frowned slightly. “Don’t ask me.”
“You just created a ball of flame.”
“Yeah. Looks like I did.”
“But-you said you had no training or power or-”
“Evidently you’re good for me.” He held out a hand. “Come here, I want to check something.”
Kett stood up warily and Bael took the blanket from her shoulders. He turned her around and lifted her shirt, staring at her back for several long seconds.
“Huh,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“What?” Kett asked.
He touched her back. “You know how you can change your appearance? Did you fade out these scars?”
“No. Why would I? They’re covered up.”
“Yeah.” Bael took her hand, moved it to her back, and ran it up and down where her scars should have been.
The skin was disturbed by a few faint ridges, and nothing more.
“What the hell?”
“I kissed them better,” Bael said, still stroking her back. “They’re still there, just faded a lot.”
“But…how, Bael?” She turned to face him. “Where the hell has this power suddenly come from?”
He cupped her face in his hands. His green eyes were intense, honest, powerful. “You,” he said.
“I don’t understand,” Kett whispered, although she feared she did.
“My parents mated young,” he said. “Perhaps they found their powers at the same time. I’ll never know. But I’m wondering,” he stroked her face, “if Mage powers are linked to mates. If I’m only realizing my full potential now that I’m with you.”
Kett stared.
“It’s the only explanation I can think of,” he said.
“Maybe,” Kett began. “Maybe it’s…”
But she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Her mouth felt very dry.
Bael kissed her, very soft and sweet, his hands framing her face, and her body melted into his. Oh hell. Seeing Striker naked earlier hadn’t elicited the tiniest response from her, and she’d known women to fall into orgasmic swoons just at the sight of him fully clothed. But Bael’s arms around her, his lips on hers, his tongue gently playing with hers, made her weak-kneed and dizzy and sent a pulse of heat through her whole body.
“I’m your mate,” she said shakily, and Bael’s eyes were warm.
“Yes, you are.”
“That’s it. Final. We can’t change it.”
He shook his head, smiling gently.
“I ain’t having kids,” she said, trying desperately to dissuade him, even though she knew there was no point.
“You don’t have to.”
“And-and-I’m not getting involved in Nasc crap. I’m staying with Jarven at the ranch. He needs someone to take care of him.”
“Sure. I wouldn’t try to stop you.”
Panic fluttered in her veins. “I-I don’t want…”
Bael smoothed her hair and waited. Kett let out a shaky breath. “Bael, I-you-I’m not normal.”
“It’s one of the things I love about you.”
“And I don’t-I can’t-every time I try to get involved with anyone, when I get close, with my family or with the Order, when I try to do what I’m supposed to, it all ends up…really bad.”
“What you’re supposed to do? Who says what you’re supposed to do?”
“Well-well, you’re saying I’m supposed to be your mate-”
“I’m saying you are my mate. What you do after that is up to you.”
His tone was gentle, his expression warm, but there was a flicker of insecurity behind his eyes.
“Kett, it’ll be okay. I’m not asking anything of you. I don’t expect anything of you. I love who you are, right now, scars and everything. I love how brave you are, how kind you are even when you don’t want to be, how you’re frightened and angry and vulnerable and spiky and brilliant. I love everything about you.”
Kett gazed at him, stunned. Bael slowly twirled a curl of her hair around his finger and spoke carefully, as if he was still thinking through what he was saying.
“I’m not here because of this mate thing. I mean, I think it’s real and true, but that’s not why I’m here.” His voice gathered speed. “I came for you when I thought you weren’t my mate. I came for you when I thought you’d cheated on me and killed my mother. And if you proved to me right now conclusively that I’m not your mate and never will be, I would still come for you. I’d still want you and love you. I love you, Kett. I-”