Hopeful, Brochan flashed to the mortal realm. Budapest, Hungary. A dark, overcast sky framed a massive stone fortress seated atop a tree-lined hill. When they weren’t warring in the Underworld, a band of demon-bonded immortals and their assortment of significant others lived here. The powerful men and women bore no love for Brochan.
A cool breeze clapped branches together. Insects sang. No unusual activity outside the fortress.
Though Brochan comprehended the danger, he flashed inside the fortress. Empty rooms. Unmade beds. Haphazardly emptied closets. A half-filled coffee mug on the kitchen counter. Cold. The occupants had left in a hurry. His panic sharpened.
Where was she? Weak and injured, she was easy prey for anyone interested in her harm. And the other Forsaken were only interested in harming her. Red dotted Brochan’s vision.
Nerves frayed beyond repair, he returned to the abandoned realm. Her bedchamber. He dropped to his knees before the pool of blood, threw back his head and unleashed his roar. The palace shook. Cracks spread over the windows. Why hadn’t he freed her? For the key, as he’d tried to convince himself, or his insatiable need for her?
Did she even have a key? Sometimes he wondered.
Either way, he should have given her a chance to prove herself. If she’d decided to leave him, so what? At least he would know her true desires beyond any doubt.
“Brochan?” His brother’s voice infiltrated his awareness. Spotting the blood, the male rushed closer. “What happened?”
“She left.” He almost couldn’t get the words out of his mouth. “She left me.” And I deserved it.
“I’ll kill her!”
Before he realized he’d moved, Brochan towered in front of his brother, his fangs bared. “You will not hurt her. Do you understand?”
McCadden blinked, nodded. “Even after this, you want her.” A statement, not a question. First, he displayed shock, then astonishment.
“I’ll always want her,” he croaked. Why not admit the rest? “She is…mine. My female. The one meant for me alone.” My mate. My wife. Whatever the term, Viola was it for Brochan.
He’d merely played with the supposition before. But the truth was so clear now. How had he ever doubted it?
He turned to his brother. “I hate that you are pained by this. I don’t wish to lose you over it. But I need her. If she’ll have me, I will devote my life to making her happy.” Words he should have spoken the moment his brother arrived. To McCadden, and to Viola. “I will find her. I must.”
McCadden drew in a deep breath. He offered another nod, this one clipped. “I think you’re a fool for doing this. She cares for only herself and her mutt, and she will hurt you at some point. But I won’t stand in your way. I’ll even aid in your search.”
“Thank you.” Brochan yanked his brother close for a quick hug, then stalked into the closet to gather his weapons. If anyone got in his way, they died. Nothing would stop him from claiming his mate.
* * * *
Viola stumbled through a forest shrouded in darkness, Fluffy keeping pace beside her. Her heart knocked against her ribs with every step. Branches and foliage sliced her. A gash on her forehead leaked, blood dripping into her eyes, but she didn’t slow. Immortals hunted her.
Narcissism toyed with Viola all the while, reminding her of everyone she’d ever betrayed. Worse than my mother.
She tried to distract herself with a plan to save McCadden. What if she turned him into a vampire instead of sharing a piece of her heart? Unlike Fluffy, he was built for long term immortality. But. Turning wasn’t as easy as books and movies claimed, but as a goddess of the Afterlife, she could ensure he survived the transformation. Of course, vamps were an abomination to Sent Ones. Even former Sent Ones. Good news was, he would live without having to feast on living batteries. Not that Viola cared about McCadden and his family. Brochan was hardly more than an afterthought.
Except he wasn’t.
A sob bubbled from her, and Fluffy brushed against her leg, offering comfort. If not for her fur-baby, she might have ceased running and let the immortals catch her.
Yes. Do it. Narcissism had stopped trying to fuel any kind of false self-love and started revealing unshakable truths. The demon despised her very being, its every suggestion meant to cause misery. Hers. Others. If not now, later.
“No,” Viola snapped. Her lover’s attention might empower her in ways no one else’s ever had, but his rejection cut worse. Besides, she couldn’t flash, her physical weakness too great.
Since leaving him, she’d lost track of time. She thought two days had passed. Maybe a week. Or a year. So why hadn’t her hand grown back?
Tears welled, a few escaping to trickle down her cheeks. Was she dependent on Brochan now? Without his adoration, she might remain in this weakened state forever. Part of her didn’t want to heal. Did she even deserve to?
A branch tip grazed the raw, bloody stump, agonizing her, and she cried out.
Voices called from the distance.
“I heard her!”
“This way!”
“She’s my kill. Get in my way and suffer!”
“Flash to safety,” she commanded her baby between panting breaths. “Please! I’ll recover, no matter what happens, as long as I know you’re okay.”
His loyalty unwavering, he refused, choosing to endure or perish by her side.
Tears fell faster. If the worst happened and they were overtaken, Fluffy would fight until the bitter end. He always did. He loved her as much as she loved him, her only balm of comfort. The only reason she wasn’t curled into a ball, sobbing.
Limbs and leaves crunched under her bare feet. She’d been in such a temper, she hadn’t thought to change out of her dress and don boots before axing her hand.
Her mutilated wrist throbbed as she snaked around a large tree trunk. Thick buttress roots tripped her, and she tumbled down. As she crash-landed, dirt flung over the cloth that covered her wound. Nausea rose. Viola vomited the meager contents of her stomach before lumbering to her feet with Fluffy’s help and forcing herself onward.
She wheezed shallow breaths, every inhalation acting as a blade to her lungs. Knowing she could go no farther, Viola dropped. She leaned against a barbed tree trunk. The sharp tips stabbed her back, adding to her collection of injuries, but she didn’t care. Her vision wavered. Her head swam.
Blood rushed inside her ears, the ring deafening. “I’m so sorry, darling. Mommy needs to rest a bit. She can’t…she…” A sob bubbled from her at last. She had failed her child. She had failed herself. What proved the most disheartening, however? Brochan wasn’t going to rush to the rescue. Not this time.
Not that she needed to be rescued. She wasn’t some goddess in distress, even when she was in distress. But she’d tasted the wonders of having a partner. Now, she was addicted.
Did he miss her at all?
A bitter laugh escaped her. Of course, he did. He wanted the key that she didn’t possess.
Three males—two vampires and a berserker—exploded from a wall of foliage, stopping when they spotted her. The vampires smiled, flashing their fangs. She recognized them. Kinsman of someone she’d doomed.
The berserker evinced glee. The last time she was here, he’d hit on her, and she had rebuffed him.