Not much farther.
Lynsay nodded, clearly unaware of the threat beside her. “But when the person you love believes in all that stuff, things can get complicated.”
“How so?” Sebastian asked, for the sake of distraction as much as anything else.
“Well, I guess only if you fall short. It’s the worst thing in the world to be told that you’re not the One.”
“Surely not the very worst thing,” Sebastian muttered. “You could be attacked and left for dead at the side of a quiet country road, for example.”
To his surprise, she laughed at what could have been taken as a warning. Why were mortals so foolish with their trust? “Okay, you’re right. Not the worst thing, but it’s bad. You’re in love and he’s apparently not, even though you thought everything was going so well.”
“How can you be sure of that?” Sebastian turned to watch her, hearing the yearning in her voice. He felt a strange commonality with this mortal, one that wasn’t entirely welcome.
“Because he dumped me. He said I wasn’t the one. He said he preferred to wait.” She geared down and her voice dropped low. “As if I wasn’t good enough.”
Sebastian frowned. He looked out the window at nothing and reminded himself that her business wasn’t his business. Her broken heart certainly wasn’t his problem. But he knew the Pyr and their code of honor and he could connect the dots.
“You love Hadrian MacEwan,” he guessed.
“Oh, God, yes,” she said with such feeling that even Sebastian’s weary heart clenched.
It really wasn’t his problem.
He was the last individual in the world to become an agony aunt or give advice on matters of the heart. He had no empathy and didn’t care.
But he felt her ache and oddly enough, it found a resonance within him.
Sebastian meant to sigh, but instead, he found himself talking. “Maybe he thought he wasn’t good enough,” he said, then wondered where that suggestion had come from. It had nothing to do with his relationship with Sylvia, certainly. Sebastian had no illusions that he was less than magnificent himself. He kept his gaze fixed on what passed for a road ahead of the car, well aware that Lynsay was studying him.
“You think so?”
“It’s always possible. Some men are idealists. Some think that love should bring more than sexual satisfaction and contentment, that it should be a pairing of opposites, or a partnership of complementary strengths. Some think that a union should be more than the sum of the parts, that it should exult each partner, making each better and stronger than before.”
He sounded like a propagandist for the Pyr and their wretched firestorm, which annoyed him. On the other hand, he understood why Hadrian had acted as he had. He’d heard the argument before. The irony was that Hadrian might actually have loved Lynsay, but the spark of the firestorm and appearance of his destined mate would have compelled him to turn away from her anyway. Had he anticipated it? Or had he simply thought it easier to break up sooner rather than later?
Sebastian was glad he didn’t believe in destined love or, really, in love at all. It had to be worse than magick for making trouble where none was wanted.
The car was silent, the atmosphere charged. Sebastian glanced over to find Lynsay frowning in thought. “I can respect that,” she said finally. She turned to face him so suddenly that Sebastian was surprised and their gazes caught. “Buy why wouldn’t he try to change?”
“Change?” Sebastian was incredulous. “Do you truly imagine that anyone is capable of real change?”
“Yes,” she said with heat. “Yes, I do. Anyone can ditch a habit or be more noble in their goals or try harder. They just have to want to do it badly enough.” Her lips set as she parked in front of what looked like an old mill. “And you know, if he thought he wasn’t good enough, but he didn’t have the stones to try to do better, then he’s right. We’re better off apart.” She turned off the engine with a decisive flick of her wrist.
There were two Land Rovers parked there already. One side of the building had burned and had done so recently: Sebastian could still smell the smoke. On the remaining side, there were lights behind the windows, indicating that the fire had been contained. Lynsay peered into the darkness. “They said he was back, and also that there had been a fire in his studio. I didn’t realize it was completely gone. That’s a shame. But Hadrian will rebuild. Nothing stops him when he pursues a goal.” Her gaze lingered on the shadowed ruins as she apparently realized the implication of what she’d just said. She looked at Sebastian, new understanding in her eyes. “Which pretty much says it all, doesn’t it?”
Sebastian knew he should get out of the car. He knew he shouldn’t involve himself or offer a suggestion. But her disappointment was palpable and he felt like he should encourage her somehow.
There had been a time when Sebastian would have surrendered to his need and put Lynsay out of her misery in the simplest way possible. That was one solution.
Instead, he actually smiled at her.
“All good things come to he—or she—who waits,” he said.
“But is it true?”
“I hope so.”
She laughed and her eyes lit. “How long have you waited?”
“Much longer than you.” She surveyed him, obviously trying to guess his age. “Trust me on that.”
“All right, I will. Because you’re right. I just have to let it go and move on.” Her eyes widened. “I’ll keep waiting for the good stuff.”
“Keep your eyes open,” Sebastian found himself advising. “It might be in the most unlikely of places.”
“My father used to say that, but then, he was a poet.” She looked at the door to Hadrian’s lair again, then restarted the car. “I’m not going to go in,” she said with admirable resolve. “Are you going to need a ride back? You could call me.”
“You’ve already done more than enough,” Sebastian said, shaking her proffered hand. He ignored the surge of the thirst at the glimpse of that pale wrist. “I’ll solve it.”
“Stop in for a pint before you leave town.”
“Perhaps I will. Thank you, Lynsay, and good luck.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
“You don’t need to. Goodnight.” Sebastian got out of the car, raising a hand as Lynsay turned the car around and drove away. He stood in the shadows, watching the tail lights of her car fade from view, fingering Maeve’s box in his pocket.
If he thought he wasn’t good enough, but he didn’t have the stones to try to do better, then he’s right. We’re better off apart.
Sebastian heard the echo of Lynsay’s ferocity in his thoughts. Was she right about the ability to change? He’d never even tried to change, not for anyone or anything.
What if that was the secret?
Eleven
The pizza, even cool, tasted better than anything Hadrian had eaten in a long time. Balthasar and Alasdair brought him up to date on the story so far, then Alasdair continued to read.
It couldn’t be a coincidence that there were swans in this story and that his mate was a swan shifter. He’d wanted to know everything about her even before she’d saved him from death so he listened closely.