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“He was Lort’s blood slave.” Roark set the human onto unstable legs, those funny hospital socks warming his feet.
“Theoretically, he could work. Sorry to talk about you as if you aren’t here, John.” She patted her icy blonde hair, done in a tight chignon, making sure each strand was in place.
“That’s okay. I want to help.” John steadied himself with a hand on Roark’s shoulder.
Skyler put her palms together in prayer fashion, the tips of her fingers touching her lips. The man was obviously in distress, but she also saw a steely determination in his eyes. He had been abused but was fighting his way back. Helping in this task was necessary for his recovery.
Kole stood by, breaking the silence. “The room is set.”
“Candles? Music? Lighting?” she asked.
He stroked his mate’s arm, eliciting a smile from her. “Just how you like it.”
“I’m not sure what to do with him. I mean, with John.”
Kole’s brows furrowed.
“The clothes. You might need to dress as you were with Lort, John.”
“Those clothes have been destroyed. Besides, I spent a lot of time naked.” Tears slid from his eyes.
Fire popped from Kole’s fingers. “Hell no. Don’t even think about it, Frisca.”
“What?” asked Roark.
“The objects, my conduits, must be as they were,” explained Skyler. “I was given a dirty blade once to find a missing loved one. I scrubbed off the blood, thinking shiny and clean were better. Big mistake. The object was useless. His mate luckily found something else. I’ve been more careful since.”
“You are not going to be in a closed room with a naked male. Unless the male is me.”
She tilted her neck, shooting her mate a patronizing look. “Perhaps if I only touch a bit of bare flesh.”
Grumbling, Kole assisted John into the room with Skyler, indicating he should sit near her. “You can touch a shoulder, maybe a foot. That’s it. No other skin. If your dick gets hard, son, you’re a dead man.”
Cross-legged on the yoga mat, Skyler sent her mate out the door with a glare. She patted John’s arm. “His bark is worse than his bite.” Most of the time. “You must remain silent, unmoving while I do my thing.”
John nodded.
With the candles lit, Enya’s “Echoes in Rain” playing, and a soft flowery scent in the air, Skyler closed her eyes, rolling her shoulders. She stretched her neck from side to side. She rested her fingers on John’s bare arm.
Unlike other scryers, Skyler needed no crystal ball, no mirror, no reflective surface. What she needed was already inside her. She concentrated until a chill ran through her veins. With a deep breath, she formed ice, her tool to find what she sought. She would use it to locate the garrison where John had been a blood slave.
Nothing.
She delved deeper into the frozen ponds in her mind, searching for a vision of the hidden fortress.
There. In the distance. A foggy valley, so obscured in the mist she detected no landmarks, had no sense of where she was.
She floated through the miasma. A light mist sprinkled her face. She licked moisture from her lips, her body enveloped in a soft stillness. When she reached the center, black tendrils arose, weaving and twisting toward her, wrapping around her limbs and piercing her temples.
Pain. Every nightmare, every bad memory replayed in her mind, sharp, cutting reminders of all things evil. Her body seized. Convulsions moved from her chest to her limbs to her fingers and toes.
When Skyler’s hands flew to her temples, Kole slammed through the door, scooping her from the floor.
She tilted her face toward her mate, tears welling in her eyes, her vision of the cold, demanding father who found her lacking and always reminded her. “There’s a powerful spell around the garrison. I couldn’t penetrate it. I’m a failure when we very much needed a success.”
Kole palmed the back of her head, his gaze heated. “Frisca, you are not a failure. You tried the impossible. I’m proud of you.”
With her cheek resting on her mate’s broad chest and assured he only saw good in her, she collapsed into darkness.
