The Lynx Who Purred for a Sidhe Prince (16 page)

“Well, we might not be able to pull that off,” Corbin answered,

“but we’ll try the next best thing, to remain here as long as we can.”

Winter liked that plan, and he couldn’t wait to reach their

bedroom and show Corbin just how enthusiastic he was about it.

Thankfully, Corbin was right and they reached their room without

being bothered. Winter was debating between taking a shower—the

salt water always made his hair horrible—and going ahead with

seducing his mate when a knock sounded at the door.

Confused, Winter shared a look with his mate. “Yes?” Corbin

asked.

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“I hate to interrupt, sir, but you’ve received a phone call from Mr.

Cunningham,” the man on the other side replied. It was the house

steward, the person responsible for Corbin and Winter’s comfort. “He

didn’t want us to interrupt your day at the beach, but he said you

should contact him as soon as possible.”

Arousal and frivolous concerns died out as Winter took in the

implications. Byron and Skylar would never have called them had

something serious not happened.

Winter pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt, and Corbin did the

same thing. “Thank you,” Winter told the steward. “We’ll do so

now.”

The steward took his leave while Corbin retrieved his phone. They

quickly dialed Byron’s private number. Moments later, Skylar’s face

appeared on the vid connection. His usually composed countenance

bore the distinctive marks of stress, and his blond hair was a mess, as if he’d just been running his hand through it.

“What is it?” Winter asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Shea.” Skylar swallowed, the pause a clear sign of agitation

in a man Winter had only ever seen calm. “He’s sick.”

“Sick?” Winter repeated in disbelief. “Why? Since when?”

“He’s been moody and crying for a while now, but we didn’t think

anything was wrong. Alexis felt it first, and we had doctors see him. It doesn’t seem serious, but no one knows what’s wrong.” Skylar

sighed. “I’m just…I have a bad feeling, Winter. I know I shouldn’t

bother you on a hunch, but you’re a healer. You can help my

grandson, I just know it.”

“We’ll be home as soon as possible,” Winter replied. The words

fell off his lips with striking ease, and he realized that he had indeed come to care about the Cunninghams as if they were his own family.

“Thank you,” Skylar replied, obviously looking relieved. “We’ll

be waiting.”

Winter ended the connection, aware of the importance of each

second. They didn’t even bother to gather their belongings. Winter

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just grabbed his mother’s pendant from the drawer and rushed out,

Corbin hot on his heels.

The steward met them in the foyer. “I took the liberty to ready a

helicopter for you. It’s outside, waiting.”

Winter briefly thanked the man and followed his lead to the

helipad. As he and Corbin got inside the aircraft and buckled in,

Corbin inquired, “Do you really think Shea’s disease isn’t serious?”

“I won’t know until I see him, of course,” Winter replied, “but

somehow I doubt Skylar is the alarmist type. He wouldn’t have called

without good reason.”

“What gets me is that sicknesses don’t stick to us shifters. What

could possibly be wrong?”

There were many things that could go wrong for children. The

genetic implications of the reproduction of half-breeds like Morgan

and Layton could be, on their own, a concern. But Winter knew that

Skylar and Byron had anticipated such issues and had the best staff

money could buy ready for their sons. So what could be wrong?

Winter had always thought Elian was more at risk to develop

some sort of disease as a child between a shifter and a magical

creature. As much as he’d have wanted a baby with Corbin, he was

thankful that gift had been lost a long time ago. He didn’t want to

make the same mistake others had.

“Do you truly think that?”
Corbin whispered in his mind, having obviously caught onto the thought.
“Do you think our mating and

theirs was a mistake?”

“No, of course not,”
Winter replied hastily.
“It’s just…From a
medical perspective, it’s risky for the children.”

“I know,”
Corbin replied.
“Remember Isaac, Brody and Soren’s
brother? He had a lot of problems growing up. But that doesn’t make
his parents’ mating wrong or his birth a mistake.”

Winter winced. He knew how standoffish he must have seemed to

Corbin.
“It’s not like that. I love the children, you know I do. I’m just
worried.”

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Worried that Shea would die, like Winter’s parents had. Worried

that once again, Winter would be too late to save a person he cared

about. What use did he have for his powers if they couldn’t rescue the people who were important to him?

Wordlessly, Corbin gathered him close. Winter buried his face in

Corbin’s chest, trying to soak in his mate’s strength. He had a feeling he would need it.

* * * *

“And we need to look into the replacement of Elder Mercier,

Majesty. Paris needs a new leader.”

Sterling extended his hand at his assistant. “Files for potential

candidates?”

The younger Sidhe handed him a thick folder, already well aware

of Sterling’s preference to read on paper. “I also sent the file to your computer, Majesty.”

“Very good.” Sterling paused and gazed at his assistant. “Now tell

me, how are things going in my absence? I trust everything has been

run according to my instructions.”

“Of course, Majesty,” the other man replied. “We live to serve.”

Sterling had doubts about that. His brother and Jayna had been

killed because of traitors in the palace. Now, Sterling had to divide his time between watching over Shea Cunningham and official Sidhe

business. He was vulnerable, and he knew it. But he didn’t have a

choice. The Oracle had told him Shea was the key to keeping Winter

alive. Sterling had to delegate at least some of the issues, or else he’d never have the time to make sure Winter’s future was secure. At the

same time, he found that he cared about Shea. He’d briefly met

Layton and Preston’s son at the wedding, and even if he hadn’t spent

too much time around the child, he’d felt a warm pull toward Shea, a

protectiveness he’d only ever experienced toward Winter, and yet,

somewhat different.

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Sterling shook himself, deciding to put aside his own conflicting

emotions for the moment. He opened his mouth, intending to ask his

assistant about the grand prelate. The prelate had seemed a bit too

mouthy and questioned Sterling’s orders. The words never came. A

piercing sensation at the back of his skull notified him something was very wrong.

“Go,” he barked at the younger Sidhe instead. “I wish to be

alone.”

His assistant took off with a frightened look on his face, but

Sterling didn’t have time to worry about that. As soon as he was

alone, he locked the door and turned around. Just like he expected, the Oracle manifested in front of his very eyes.

“What’s wrong, Great One?” Sterling asked. “Is it Winter?”

“It’s Shea,” the Oracle replied. “It has begun.”

Sterling gaped at her. “But I was just in LA yesterday,” Sterling

said. “Shea was fine.”

“And he still is, in a way. You can still stop it. The veil has been

lifted off my eyes.” The Oracle’s blind gaze fixed on Sterling’s face.

“Shea bears a terrible burden, Sterling. The shadow of the spell on his birth father will kill him.”

In one single moment, comprehension dawned. Of course. Spells

like the one on Layton Cunningham didn’t just disappear without a

trace. They left remnants behind. If the people in question were lucky, those traces eventually vanished in time. But in rare cases, that

lingering power could cling to loved ones of the original enchanted

person, particularly offspring.

Had Sterling brought Shea here, the baby would have been safe

from any curse. The wards around the Sidhe island would have

obliterated the spell’s shadow. It was still not too late. He could steal Shea and bring him here.

“That won’t work,” the Oracle told him. “The spell was formed

with the help of an incubus. Tearing the child away from his parents

in a violent manner would just worsen his condition. Had Winter

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complied with our request, it would have worked out. The shadow

still hadn’t manifested fully, and Shea cares about Winter. But that is no longer a path we can take.”

“Then what must I do, Great One?” Sterling asked. He was

beginning to understand where Winter fit into all this, and he didn’t like it.

“Listen closely and do exactly as I say,” the Oracle replied. “We

still have a chance to help Winter and Shea if we do things right. Now hurry. You have to make a pit stop on the way, and there’s not much

time.”

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Chapter Eight

The trip back to the Cunningham mansion seemed to take ages,

with Corbin worrying about both his nephew and his mate. Winter

was fretting, his mind a jumble of confusing ideas Corbin couldn’t

make heads or tails of. Some of those thoughts upset Corbin greatly,

for purely selfish reasons. This was honestly not the time to worry

about why Winter wouldn’t want a child with him.

Still, Corbin held his mate tightly all the way back to LA, almost

thinking that he’d lose himself in his own dark musings if he didn’t do so. He only released Winter when the helicopter landed and the pilot

told them it was okay to get out.

Corbin opened the helicopter door, and both he and Winter

jumped out. Corbin’s parents, together with Skylar Cunningham, were

waiting for them. Garth’s face was guarded, while Nicolas and Skylar

seemed concerned.

“Take me to see Shea,” Winter said without preamble.

As they walked, Garth started to explain the child’s condition.

“He was never really sociable, but it’s gotten worse. He doesn’t stand for anyone except his parents to approach, and when they leave, he

doesn’t eat, refuses all care, and even gets physically ill.”

“When I called, he’d just had a high fever, all because Layton had

gone to lie down after forty-eight hours with him,” Skylar said. “He

was in the next room, Winter, and Preston never once left Shea’s side.

And yet the fever didn’t stop until an hour after Layton returned to

hold him.”

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Corbin couldn’t figure out what kind of disease could cause

symptoms like those described. “So, it’s emotional dependency?

Could it be psychosomatic?”

“Doctors are studying the possibility, but they can’t give a one

hundred percent certain diagnosis,” Nicolas replied. “Winter, can you find out?”

“I will try,” Winter answered. “Thank you for trusting me with

this. I will do my best to help Shea.”

They stopped in front of the nursery Shea and Elian used to share.

“We moved Elian to a room adjoining his parents’. He and Shea got

along great in the beginning, but lately, Shea couldn’t even stand his presence.”

That was very strange, indeed. Skylar knocked at the door gently,

and a few seconds later, a haggard-looking Preston opened it. He

offered Corbin a weak smile. “Hey, brother. Sorry about interrupting

your honeymoon.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Corbin replied automatically. “How’s

Shea?”

“He’s sleeping right now,” Preston murmured. “Come on in. Be

careful. We don’t want to wake him.”

“We’ll stay outside,” Garth said. “We don’t want to disturb him.”

Wordlessly, Winter and Corbin slipped inside the room and closed

the door behind themselves. The nursery was quiet and quite dark.

The sunlight barely filtered through the thick curtains shielding the windows. Through his feline vision, Corbin spotted a small figure on

the couch. It was Layton, holding his son to his chest.

As soon as Corbin and Winter approached the couch, Shea opened

his eyes and instantly started to cry. Layton shushed him, whispering soft endearments to his baby. When Preston sat down next to Layton,

Shea began to calm down, but he never quite stopped crying.

“Can you help us, Winter?” Layton asked, his voice broken.

“Please. Something’s wrong with him, and no one can tell us what.”

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Corbin’s heart hurt. He couldn’t stand seeing his brother, Layton,

and Shea suffer like this, and he knew Winter felt the same. The Sidhe knelt next to the couch and reached for Shea. Without removing the

baby from his birth father’s arms, Winter lowered his hands over

Shea’s small face. Corbin watched as Winter’s eyes closed and his

palms started to glow. Everyone was completely silent, the hope and

breathless anticipation in the air obvious.

Then, much to Corbin’s horror, Winter’s complexion grew pasty.

He started to choke and sweat, his crimson hair clinging to his face in wet clumps. Corbin sensed a darkness struggling against Winter,