Soul Kissed (26 page)

Stealth backed up until he felt the burn of a ward stone behind him. They knew his secret name? And he wasn’t an assassin . . . yet. But it was something he thought about. His dad had killed someone once, fast and gentle, but he didn’t think Stealth had seen. Maybe the Webbs could see the past. Maybe they could tell the future.

“But the story is going a different way,” Bran whined. “The words are easy. They feel right.”

“No, Bran. Fletcher is a child and has no destiny. Rip him from that path and set him on yours.”

He sighed. “But it’s boring. Assassin is better.”

“You can be more bored locked in your room after. Now tell Fletcher’s story our way.”

Stealth didn’t want to hear Fletcher’s story. Not anymore. There was too much tucked into the words.

“Fine. Umm . . . he thinks he can do anything,” Bran said fast, like he was trying to hurry. “But he’s really just a kid.”

“Yes.”

Traitor. Bran wasn’t his friend anymore. Ever.

A coldness reached inside Stealth, like long fingers made out of magic. They scraped into his guts and made him shiver where he stood. Just a kid. He felt shorter. Not nearly as strong as his dad.

“And there’s nowhere for him to go, since the wards won’t let him out anyway.”

“Correct.”

And Stealth was stuck, no matter how many walls he could go through. Because the wall that mattered wouldn’t let anything in or out unless Webb commanded it.

Bran blew his cheeks out while he thought. “And he should mind his own business and not be in your office.”

“Neither of you should play in my office, but continue.”

“And he should just come out of where he’s hiding, because he’s in really big trouble.”

The long fingers grabbed Fletcher inside, as if someone had found him after all and was going to drag him out of his hiding place.

“Yes.”

“And he’s not so great after all.”

He wasn’t Stealth, not really. He was just Fletcher. The stray.

“You’ve established that, and threading jealousy into the story is dangerous.”

Bran looked mad. “And his dad gave him to us, so he has to do what we tell him to.”

Fletcher knew that was the truth, and so did the long hand inside him. His dad had given him to Mr. Webb. Had left him behind, just like his mom had. He belonged to Mr. Webb.

“And Fletcher Stray must come when called.”

Fletcher turned to run away. Maybe if he couldn’t hear, he wouldn’t have to obey.

“Fletcher Stray!” called Mr. Webb. “Come here at once.”

The hand gripping inside of him yanked him toward the open part of the room. Fletcher tried to grab hold of something to keep himself in the dark, but his arms and legs were already taking him right into the circle of light. Never mind that the fae stood all around, looking at him with wonder on their strange faces.

Made him feel silly and small. Like he was going to cry.

“Protect the House,” Webb told Bran.

Bran nodded. “And the boy would not speak of anything he discovered in Webb House.”

Fletcher felt another magic hand come around his face to bind his mouth. He didn’t need to try to speak to know that he couldn’t. Bran’s story had told him so.

Fletcher suddenly realized that
he
was now Bran’s Shadow puppet. The thought made his heart shake.

“Very good, Bran,” Mr. Webb said. “Your generation boggles the mind. What an age of power ahead of us. Well done, son.”

Fletcher shook with sadness. He hurt inside. His eyes hurt. And his belly. Everything hurt. His dad had given him to this terrible man.
Dad, where are you?

“Now—” Webb leaned down to him, his eyes staring into Fletcher’s brain. “Tell me where you hid that thumbdrive with my computer files on it.”

Fletcher felt the Shadow hand on his mouth tighten, so that no words could come out.

“Tell me,” Webb insisted. He looked at Bran, who shrugged as if he didn’t know what was wrong.

But Fletcher knew. He was inside the story, so he knew it for sure. Bran had just told the Shadow that he couldn’t speak of anything he’d discovered in Webb House, which,
duh,
included the thumbdrive. Bran’s own story had messed him up.

“Fletcher, you will obey me,” Mr. Webb said.

A Shadow hand still clamped Fletcher’s mouth shut, but he had no trouble at all grinning meanly at Mr. Webb.
You can’t make me.

 

 

“Please move Mason’s things to my room,” Cari said to Allison. The roar from the mob outside the wards was now audible from the front door, a quarter mile from the street. It stole her breath, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. It had grown from fifteen loitering people to fifty angry ones in days. Police officers were on site, but this required a special intervention. Something needed to be done
now
. Or Maeve might become interested, thinking them postulants clamoring for her favor. Quite the opposite.

Scarlet’s welcome looked a lot like anger, too. “The plague has run its course, so why is
he
here?”

“Lovely to see you again, Scarlet,” Mason said, the stray turned gentleman. Cari was going to kiss him for enduring her stepmother’s bite so kindly.

Here we go.
“He’s here because I won’t give him up.”

Which made Stacia snort to suppress her laughter.

Scarlet was going to have to be sedated when Cari told her she planned to claim him. The thought almost made Cari giggle hysterically, right there in front of everyone.

“Is Kaye Brand here?” Cari asked instead. Business, she reminded herself sternly. Dire, terrible business to do.

Scarlet was distracted from killing Mason with her glare. “Who? No. No one has crossed the wards since you left. How could they?”

Cari didn’t tell her that Brand had a very useful vassal in Marcell Lakatos who helped her cross whatever wards she chose. “Stacia, can you check the office? And if she’s there, offer her something to eat or drink. I’m going up to change and will be down in five minutes.”

“I’ll go with your sister,” Mason said. “I want to hear about Fletcher.”

Cari nodded. “In five, then.” And she hurried up the stairs. The clothes she was wearing needed to be burned. She took a minute in a cold shower, found clean underwear, dressed in smart clothes. She glanced in the mirror to evaluate what could be done to her face in ten seconds, but the woman who looked back at her didn’t need anything. She almost didn’t recognize herself, except that, yes, those were technically her features. Just at their very best, with a little fae sheen mixed in. Even the plague scar at her neck was gone.

Maeve again.

Cari didn’t know how she felt about that, and she didn’t have time to think about it now.

She headed for the office, but Scarlet was lying in wait to intercept her at the top of the stairs.

“Darling, really,” she said. “It’s inappropriate that he’s here.”

Sigh. “I find him indispensible.”

“But to what end? It’s what your father would ask.”

Cari grinned. “The end of time, if he’ll have me.”

“Oh, Cari. This has all been so difficult for you. You’re not thinking. Do you really want him, a stray, to be the father of your children?” She was shaking her head no, just in case Cari was confused.

Cari’s grin stretched wider. “I know with absolute certainty that there is no better father than Mason Stray. I’ve got to go. The High Seat waits.”

Mason was leaning on her father’s desk and Kaye was sitting in the chair before it, both deep in conversation, when Cari entered the office. “What’d I miss?”

Kaye sat back in the chair in a smooth shift. Cari wondered how she achieved that easy sophistication. Her heels were drop-dead gorgeous. They’d be stolen in this house. Stacia was probably already plotting robbery. “I’m throwing a fancy party to celebrate your success,” Kaye said.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Cari said. Not with the Maeve problem going on and the mob on her doorstep. DolanCo, House business. No, a party was the last thing she needed. “Thank you very much anyway.”

Mason held out a large white envelope. “Our success is only what’s going on the invitations. Which I’ve just learned have already been sent. And Webb has assured Kaye that Fletcher will be there.”

Oh. Well that was good, at least. Cari took the envelope. Heavy linen paper. Gilt hand-lettering. Rushed, obviously. Kaye had spared no expense. And how funny—the party was tomorrow night.

“We must do this now, before my opposition has time to organize. The Council is broken,” Kaye explained. “Martin House is arming for war against the Order and all of its supporters. The bad business with Segue earlier this year didn’t help.”

Mason grunted. “A couple of Adam’s people killed Martin’s heir, Mathilde.”

Cari had heard. It had raised her father’s eyebrows all the way up to his hairline. He’d told her that Dolan would stay well out of that dispute. Sorry, Father.

“That’s the beginning,” Kaye said. “Martin also cites the mob outside Dolan property as violence against magekind. I need a show of support from Dolan. Yours, like Martin’s, is a dark, pureblood House.”

Not for long, Cari hoped, thinking of Mason.

The room was quiet, and it occurred to Cari that they were waiting to see what she would say. Would she publicly support Brand House?

Kaye’s face was a mask. Mason’s eyes had gone dark. He already knew that she wouldn’t try for the High Seat, and he knew why. Cari had assured Kaye that she wouldn’t challenge her either.

But a public show of support meant something different.

“I have three conditions,” Cari said. This was the moment she’d been waiting for since Segue, and now she had the ammunition to make the demands. The first just made sense, considering Kaye’s request.

Kaye Brand, the High Seat, bowed her head. “And they are . . . ?”

“If I’m going to realign Dolan’s allegiances and effectively defect from hundreds of years of connections with purist Houses,” which was what Cari had wanted to do anyway, but Kaye didn’t need to know that, “I would require the support of all Houses that support Brand.”

“You want to switch sides,” Kaye said.

“Basically, yeah. I like yours better than I like mine.” Cari didn’t like her allies at all.

“That will take time.”

Cari didn’t answer, because it
would
take time.

“Agreed. I’ll do whatever I can to help you. Second?”

Cari faced Kaye, but her gaze slid over to Mason. She’d meant to make a discreet inquiry, and then plot from there. But, oh well. “You need to find a way to break or transfer to Dolan the fosterage of Fletcher Stray.”

Mason’s face flushed. The vein in his forehead bulged. Cari didn’t know if his reaction was a good thing or not. Suddenly she thought she should have checked with him first. But what would’ve been the point if claiming Fletcher wasn’t possible in the first place?

Kaye’s gaze flicked between them. “I know I’d have strong resistance from Webb, who made the arrangement with me in good faith. Would I also have resistance from Mason?”

Cari gulped under the weight of Mason’s intensifying stare.

She gave him an uneasy smile. “Where Fletcher is, that’s where you are, too.” In spirit, if not in body. Once she had Fletcher, then she could discuss the rest of her intentions with Mason. Privately.

More silence. He had to have guessed she’d go after Fletcher after what she’d said to Laurence about an ongoing partnership. Dolans were nothing if not thorough. She wanted them both.

And to prove it, she added, “Webb is interested in a project Mason and I are working on called Umbra.”

Mason’s brow creased. And Cari faced him fully, while still speaking to Kaye.

“I’d be willing to share Umbra equally with Webb for Fletcher.”

His gaze burned, and she hoped it was with the promise of an end to his separation from his son.

“No resistance from me.” Mason’s voice was ruined by strong feeling.

Cari loved how his voice could stroke deep down inside her. She wanted to throw her arms around him, even swayed toward him, but barely managed to keep up her Dolan poise. Negotiations now.

“I know fire in all its forms,” Kaye mused. “I want credit for putting the raw materials for this one together. And the third?”

Yes. That. Cari shook her hair back from her face to give her tears a second to dry. “I have a serious fae issue that could very quickly become a large-scale, global, catastrophic problem. I’m”—she looked at Mason—“
we’re
going to need some assistance.”

Mason waited out the last flicker of Kaye’s transport through Twilight to wherever she was going—Brand House, most likely—before turning to Cari. “I will make the Umbra project well worth taking Fletcher and me on. It’ll be enough for two Houses.” No matter what he had to do.

He was hopelessly in love with her. He was pretty sure she knew it. He’d thought (hoped) she might claim him, after what she’d said to Laurence and after telling Liv she’d double what his little island house was worth. Claiming was huge. But that Cari would leverage Umbra for Fletcher, a vassal? Of course the kid was worth that much, but he wasn’t Dolan blood. This was generous—maybe foolish—beyond anything in Mason’s experience, but he’d take it.

Cari’s mouth screwed up a little, as if she wasn’t entirely pleased by what he had to say.

So he hurried to add, “And absolutely whatever else Dolan House needs to have done. Starting with the fae.” He’d never leave her alone to deal with Mad Mab. A plan was in the works already. Now that Cari was inside her wards, safe from any other angels who might seek her death, Kaye would inform Bastian, and he the Order. After the party tomorrow night, trusted parties would gather to make a plan.

Cari could not give her life to end this threat. Kaye even agreed that doing so would only make war with the Order certain. “I won’t leave your side,” he said. Not for a minute.

To her expression Cari added a line of concentration between her eyebrows. “Well, I’ll need a ring, eventually.”

A ring. Now he was sure he was missing something. Something Cari thought went without saying.

“And if it’s okay with you and Fletcher,” she added, “and assuming Brand satisfies Webb immediately, I’d like to formally claim you both at this party.”

Women wore rings all the time—he glanced at her hands—all women, that is, except Cari, who kept things simple. A claim and a ring. The only ring he’d ever given a woman had gone to Liv, who’d clapped with delight, but had still never married him.

Now Cari wanted one.

The blood-beat in his head became a roar.

Mason looked down at the floor to breathe deeply through the full-body ache that had overcome him, then forced himself to look in her eyes. So damn pretty. “A friend would remind you that Dolan is a pure line.”

He really didn’t want to be her friend anymore. He wanted to grab her.

But she was the Dolan. Her heritage was the oldest, strongest, best there was. Ten years into the future, when everything had gone dark, she’d be one of the leaders of the new world.

She laughed. “No. A friend would tell me that the Dolan line could use some diluting. By half feels just about perfect for the next generation, don’t you think?”

Next generation. Meant kids. Meant kids with Cari. He loved kids. And he wanted to be with her, wanted it so bad he’d kill any man who so much as glanced her way. Come to think of it, he was the only one she could marry. The world had enough violence as it was.

“You want a ring,” he stated to make sure he’d gotten it right. Would he dare this again?

Her eyes sparkled.
“I do.”

Clever answer. “I’ll make it myself.”

 

 

Mason was so funny sometimes. What had he thought she’d meant? That they’d get it on until she married someone else? House women did sometimes take lovers. Emelda Walker had a longtime live-in. But that wasn’t her. Wasn’t him. Made the future seem knotted and hurtful.

But with Mason beside her, the vantage cleared. She didn’t have to face that constantly gusting storm because the wind went gentle on her skin.

He was looking at her mouth, a slow smile growing on his. “I love you.” Seemed like a weight off his shoulders.

She laughed again. “I know. Anyone else would be running far, far away.”

He stepped forward, his arm going around her waist, breath on her cheek. “There’ll be nobody else. No running.”

He was speaking from experience. Liv, who’d left him.

Cari didn’t want Liv in the room, so she turned her head to fit her lips to his mouth, spoke against them. “I’ve been counseled to put this desk to good use.” She understood the advice better now.

He took over the kiss, making it deeper and darker. He would make all her kisses.

Warmth diffused from her heart to her fingertips, tingled down her thighs, quivered her belly, and went molten at her core. This was how she was supposed to feel. And everything about Mason was why.

“Oh? Counseled by whom?” His teeth caught her earlobe, where he knew she was ticklish. Devil.

But she bravely tilted her head to give him access. All of her was his, even the sensitive bits. “That would be Stacia.”

He lifted her weight so that she sat on the edge, and she opened her legs to straddle him. His weight kept her on the desk, yet flush against him. “I like your sisters.”

“They’ll love you.” A thumb stroke at her waist sent magic rippling over her skin, the sorcerer at his work. How his big hands were capable of such precision . . .

He laid her back, setting her laptop out of the way in the same motion. A book fell to the floor. The papers simply couldn’t be helped. The glass within a falling picture shattered.

But she could barely care because his mouth was on her belly, smoking its way downward.

For the next hour, they owned that desk. He sat for a while in the big chair, working his magic until she cried out his name. She admired the creativity with which he utilized the massive wood piece of furniture.

The desk had been in the family for over a hundred years, but it now, indisputably, belonged to them.

 

 

Someone knocked at the office door.

“No damn peace around here,” Mason said into Cari’s hair. She always smelled good. He sat in the desk chair with her curled up in his lap. But upon turning his head, he found her breasts just below eye level. Perfect. He would investigate.

“Get used to it,” she said, arching to lift up toward his mouth.

See how well they worked together?

One arm held her close around her shoulders, the other reached around her body so that his free hand held a soft cheek, which he lightly squeezed.

“Cari?” One of the sister’s voices. He couldn’t tell them apart yet.

Mason growled and held Cari tighter. He loved the taste of her skin. Just now she was slightly salty.

“She’s not going to go away,” Cari said.

“Eventually she’ll have to.”

“You don’t know my sister.” Cari’s fingers feathered through his hair.

“She doesn’t know me.” Now was a good time to start.

“She has a house full of reinforcements. Zel, and my stepmother, and . . .”

The stepmother. Mason lifted his head. His mood would be shot, except for the fact that he held a naked Cari Dolan in his arms. And he was naked, too. “I was about to plunder you.”

Which made Cari laugh out loud. “Are you a pirate? Plunder?”

“Definitely. Plunder.” Somehow he’d captured her. How about that.

She leaned toward the door. “Go away!” She sounded happy. Made him even more so.

Silence from the hall outside. He narrowed his eyes at Cari in victory, then bent his head again. He was nowhere near ready to give her up.

“But Zel’s upset and crying,” came the voice at the door.

Pitch. Tears.

“Stacia’s not leaving without me,” Cari repeated. “Let me work out whatever drama is going on, and then you can plunder me.”

Cari was missing the point. “You don’t give permission to plunder.” But he let her sit up and discovered a new angle from which to admire her lovely body.

She kissed him—a hearty smack on the mouth. “I’ll be quick.”

He sighed, resigned. He had to make some calls anyway. See if he could do the impossible and catch Khan on the phone. But he wouldn’t have minded delaying reality a little longer. Watching Cari dress just made him hard all over again. He dressed, too, but he wasn’t happy about it.

“How do I look?” She was tucking in her blouse, smoothing her hair.

The truth? “Satisfied.”

She blushed, eyes wide. Then turned and made for the door, muttering, “I’m never going to get used to this.”

“Good.” He didn’t want to get used to this either. Every moment got better than the last. He just needed Fletcher raising hell somewhere here in the house with them, and everything would be perfect.

He had his phone to his ear, was leaving a message at Segue, and patting the crumpled pile of Cari’s papers he’d rescued from the floor. Organization was not one of his strengths. The broken glass on the other side of the desk had to be cleaned up soon. Aside from the immediate family, most of the Dolan people were moving back to their own homes now that the plague threat was gone. But just in case any of the kids were still around, he hunted for a spare piece of paper to scoop up the worst of the shards.

Someone cleared their voice, and he brought his attention up.

Scarlet. Just great.

She was a silver and black dart of a woman. He wondered if her sharp cheekbones hurt her face, or if her expression was always pained. Her hands were folded in front of her at her slim waist, the picture of composure, but recriminations jabbed from her gaze.

“There was some emergency with one of the sisters,” Mason said, hoping to point her interest elsewhere. “Zella is crying.”

Scarlet didn’t go for it. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

Took all of one second for Mason to figure out what was going on.

Survival taught a stray to know when he’d been set up. Divide and conquer, Cari upstairs, him with Scarlet. He didn’t blame them for trying to intervene, and this was probably just the beginning of their anti-Mason fight. He didn’t deserve Cari, wasn’t remotely born to her circle, had lived in dirt and blood most of his life—felt it on him now with Scarlet looking at him like that—but he still wasn’t giving Cari up.

“I’m here for Cari,” he said. “Whatever she needs.” A vague enough answer to cover everything.

Scarlet’s gaze rested coldly on the desk. His tidying effort was clearly beneath her expectations. Or maybe she thought the activity that messed it was crass—though she’d had two daughters, so had to have indulged in the same at some point. Or maybe she just didn’t want him to get Cari dirty. Point of fact, they both could probably use a shower.

“Cari requires a mage of rank beside her,” she said, approaching him. “It’s what her father would’ve wanted.”

“Well, she chose me.” No disrespect.

“You’re taking advantage of her grief. The plague. Of the stress of her transition to power.”

“Maybe I am.” He was sure Cari could deal with all that shit on her own. But the point was, she didn’t have to.

“You admit it?”

“Yeah.” Of course. “I would use any and every means to stay close to Cari. I want to make her work, her troubles, easier on her. I want to make her happy.”

“By shaming her?”

That burned. But better Scarlet work out her prejudice on him before Fletcher got here and had to endure her small mind. Just thinking of Fletcher on the receiving end of this crap made Mason’s mood narrow to a knife’s edge. “Shame?” Screw that.

He managed a lazy grin to cut her back. “The most Cari’s ever done is blush, and it looks good on her.”

Scarlet’s lips pulled back as she took the bait. She stepped up close, her face in his, for round two. “I love that girl. I’ve kept her in my heart with my own daughters. I swore to her father that I would protect her with my life. And that is exactly what I am doing.”

For a second, Mason was going to observe aloud that all of Scarlet’s points were his own, too. That they had Cari’s best interests in common. But a searing punch at his gut told him that Scarlet was a woman of action.

She’d just stabbed him.

 

 

Cari stepped into the office and was immediately confused. Scarlet was close enough to kiss Mason, but Cari was pretty certain that the two weren’t on the best of terms. Especially because her sisters had lied to get her out of the room so that Scarlet could say her piece to the stray. Or rather, against him.

Scarlet leaned her weight slightly further in, which was weird, and used Mason’s belly to push her weight back. She took two steps away, her right hand shiny with red.

A hilt protruded from Mason’s stomach. He wavered on his feet, then collapsed into the desk chair, a scowl struck across his graying face.

Shock made Cari go cold, a scream rising in her throat. But she’d seen him knife-wounded before, so she kept terror at bay. “Are you going to die?”

Mason brought his gaze over. “Nah.” But he didn’t look too happy about living either. His hands were on his stomach, and with a violent shiver, he pulled the blade from his abdomen and dropped it on the floor.

His shiver made her hands shake, but she took him at his word and approached her stepmother.

“It had to be done,” Scarlet said tightly. “I’m not sorry. I promised your father.”

Cari slapped her across her face. “My father is dead.
I
am the Dolan now.”

Her palm burned as she turned to kneel and assess the damage herself. The wound was a wreck of blood, but it didn’t seem to be actively bleeding. Her hands fluttered in the air above. She didn’t want to hurt him. “What can I do?” Besides panic and summon Maeve to break her stepmother’s neck, just like Liv’s.

“I had to free you,” Scarlet said in a strangle behind her.

“Really not necessary,” Cari answered.

Though Mason’s breathing was labored, fine jagged lines of Shadow crept over his skin like capillaries of magic. Good sign. She needed him in one piece. She couldn’t afford for him to be wounded right now. Magekind couldn’t afford for him to be wounded, not with Maeve loose, doing who knew what.