Erom put his hands on his hips, a gesture that flexed his very nice chest. “I have to think about this. I wish you would too. We have other matters to consider—our project at DolanCo, for example.”
An uncomfortable problem she’d have to solve. He’d been working on building their network. But she had the prize.
“I’ve made my decision.” The words were an echo.
Erom noticed, too, and said harshly, “You sound like your father.”
He’d slipped, not so perfect this time, because there was only one response to that.
She lifted her chin to say it. “Thank you.”
The preternaturally tall trees surrounding the Webb estate were sentry-still, like great spears thrown by angels, now staked into the earth, left over from an epic battle that humanity didn’t remember, but magekind never forgot. Likewise, the house beyond was a fortress, which was the only reason why Mason had consented.
Webb House was indisputably . . . safe.
Mason turned onto the drive that led to the gate.
“I hope Bran is here!” Fletcher said for the third time in the last half hour. The excitement had long eroded from his son’s tone, leaving him a live wire of anxiety. Mason was past anxiety; some kind of constrictor snake now lived in his chest, and with growing frequency, without warning, squeezed blood and breath from him.
The kid had taken it well. Had even said, “It’ll be okay,” as if he were eighty instead of eight.
“I hope Bran is here, too.”
Because then this change might seem like going away to camp or some boarding school. Not that Fletcher had ever gone to either.
Mason swallowed a curse. He’d tried everything.
That Livia Walker and her House would not take Fletcher in, her own child, Walker’s own blood, when all this was happening made Mason crazy with rage.
He gripped the wheel. Her own child. Even temporarily . . .
The massive iron gates to Webb House opened for Mason’s car to pass, but he didn’t advance; the real barrier was still in place. There: a dark shimmer in the gray air, and the Webb House wards lifted for their entry. Wards.
Brand must have assured Riordan that they weren’t plague carriers.
The wards slid across Mason’s mind, licking cold and sharp at his consciousness. The sensation steadied him. Wards were what he’d come for. Wards were what gave him the will to put his foot back on the gas. Wards would shield Fletcher while all Mason had was tricks and muscle and maybe the unthinkable—soul—none of which could keep his son whole for long.
Mason pulled on Shadow to conceal that damning part of himself in darkness. The magic came more readily now—he’d been practicing since he’d made the decision to give his son to Webb. He filled himself with Shadow until he steamed with magic. He didn’t want to ruin Fletcher’s new life by revealing that his son had a human father. No one could know about the soul.
Mason slowly accelerated up the drive to stop at the wide terraced steps that led to the deep porch and further to the imposing stone edifice that would now and henceforth be his son’s home. Servants waited to take Fletcher’s bags.
And, sweet Shadow forever, down the steps ran Bran, oblivious to the fact that a plague was raging in his world. “. . . been setting up your rooms all morning . . . right next to mine . . .”
Fletcher looked up at Mason, his mage-black eyes smiling, actually smiling in the midst of all this. Kid needed a haircut. “Can I?”
Mason worked his emotion-locked throat. “Yeah. Go check it out. I’m not leaving for a while.” The contract. And then he’d damn well see those rooms himself.
Cari closed the accounting files and put pen to paper to write herself a note. Erom needed to be taken off DolanCo’s Special Projects Committee. Keycodes had to be changed as well. This, in the midst of everything else, was bad timing. But the decision was feeling better and better.
Her stepmother had looked at her as if she were out of her mind—Erom Vauclain!—but had accepted her decision with a passive-aggressive, “This is your House.”
Cari wouldn’t let herself be manipulated into backtracking to say, ‘But this is your House, too,’ and invite (endure) further discussion on the matter.
Because, yep. This was her House. Her life. Scarlet could mutter all she wanted. On paper, it had been a decent match. In reality, not so much. And just wait until they spoke seriously about Zella and Stacia. No one would get married if they didn’t want to.
Word of the breakup filtered through the household—Cari could almost feel it reaching everyone’s ears. Unlike Scarlet, the rest of the clan had gentle questions.
No, she and Erom had not quarreled, but after the first ineffective explanation—“just not right”—she shut herself in the office to work. Let them think what they wanted.
She had a job to do, and she’d concentrate on that. The stray was on his way right now to help her.
Mason, she corrected herself.
There was no reason she couldn’t use his name, even if she didn’t trust him. Their moment of past history meant nothing. Less than nothing. She’d had a crush, that’s all, intensified by the fact that she’d been painfully shy as a teenager.
She’d been seventeen, had just reached her majority, and was celebrating with a late-night picnic with her friends. She’d bravely—audaciously—invited Mason to come along as well, even though he’d dated and broken up with Liv, who was there, too. The potential for warfare had hummed in the air all night.
They’d gone up to Walden Pond. The moon had been bright in the night sky. The other boys had already been in the water, skinny dipping. Liv had sauntered down to the edge to watch, but Cari lingered behind, taking the opportunity to talk to Mason away from the others. Which had been the whole point of the birthday picnic in the first place.
Every time he’d looked at her, she’d had to try not to smile.
“No swimming for you?” Cari had managed without a quaver in her voice. Mason, naked. Sweet Shadow. He’d been lean then, his muscle perhaps too well cut. Maybe hungry.
“Too easy for someone to drown,” Mason answered. “I like my feet on the ground.” The stray thing. And yeah, thinking about it, Erom and the other guys might’ve easily messed with him. Mason already moved stiffly. But there were few choices open to him, and fighting back wasn’t one of them. They’d kill him.
She dared to touch his arm. The touch brought his gaze snapping to hers, as if she were dangerous.
She felt danger in the air, too. It was screaming in her mind. Mason!
“Shouldn’t be this way,” she said.
“Shouldn’t be what way?” His voice lowered. He flicked a worried glance at the boys in the water. They’d had enough of him with Liv.
“You should be claimed,” Cari said. Not shut out of his mother’s House. It was cruel, his life. How he was treated. Someone as strong as he was should belong to a great family.
Her heart went wild at the idea.
“You gonna claim me, Dolan?” he joked bitterly.
Her face heated, her voice got all tangled up, and she lost track of her words.
“Cari, I’m sorry.” He always noticed everything.
She shook her head and looked down toward the water. Then she changed her mind and forced herself to turn toward him.
He had somehow gotten closer, though she couldn’t remember him moving. Whispers of the fae rose around them. Time stopped. Sparks of magic hung in the air. And he looked at her, so seriously it made her sad. But she couldn’t help it. She was about to get him in very big trouble.
She moved closer still, until she felt his breath brush her skin. She could almost sense the future moment when that breath would be inside her, his mouth on hers.