Page 125 of Sight of Fate

“Right now, we don’t know who to trust,” Teague returns.

Macklin ends the call and turns toward us. “Raine has confined Maureen to the basement to await trial by the witches for treason. She overheard her yesterday, and when she touched her arm, she got a vision that confirmed her mother’s our traitor. But she isn’t leading the movement across the Vales. Too much of a follower. Her words. Not mine.”

I wince. “That’s too bad. I know what that feels like to be betrayed by a family member you trusted more than anyone in the world.”

Teague brings him up to speed on my vision. “We need a place to hold Angeline and Felicity. Somewhere hidden where they can’t access their magic.”

Macklin picks up his phone. “We need to borrow your cell for a few days.” He hangs up a second later. “I’ll drive the daughter. Teague, you follow in the air with the mother.” He looks at Andros and me. “You can reach us through Charli. No phones.”

When they leave, I rub my arms and turn toward Andros. “You said you could hold me and it wouldn’t bother you?”

Instead of answering, he pulls me into his lap and wraps his arms around me. “How’s this?”

I nod. Staring into his caramel-brown eyes, I know what I have to do.

Chapter Forty-Nine

ANDROS

Her light lashes fan across her pink cheeks as sleep claims her. Hearing her cry my name earlier with such anguish tells me more than her words can ever convey. It killed me to tell her I didn’t want to bond earlier, but I couldn’t lie. Vampire mates can not only see each other’s memories but experience them in full technicolor. Charli has enough bad memories. She doesn’t need to see or feel what that sadist did to me. Brutal acts stored in the darkest recesses of my soul. Their burden is mine to carry. She is mine to cherish.

Ronan was right and wrong. My craving for her body and blood is intense. But so is my need for her. My la lumière, my light. The lip she bites when she’s unsure and the one I most want to nibble on. Seeing anger flash in the depths of her light green eyes, replacing moments of uncertainty with a confidence that’s breathtaking. Her intelligence, blossoming as she learns more and more. The compassion she shows to everyone, including her broken vampire mate.

Her brow furrows, and I rub a light finger down the center. Turning my bare hand in the early morning light, I wonder what she’ll think of them when she sees their wretchedness. Puckered skin. Gnarled fingers. Silver lines. The hands of a monster.

Macklin’s been walking around half-naked in an attempt to make her more comfortable with her scars. And it’s working. She forgot she was wearing a tank when she woke from her vision, and Macklin’s tanks reveal more than she thinks. I glance at the skin on her shoulders. Lines where the grafts were placed give it a slight patchwork texture, but it’s not nearly as bad as what I assume she sees in her mind when she looks at them. I should know. I don’t see the silver on my hands, but the bloody skin shredded by the thorn switches my sire used to wield.

Her scars don’t bother us. Not the sight of them, anyway. What they represent is a whole different story. And the object of our wrath is coming here. How convenient. My incisors lengthen. Whatever happens in this battle, Hank’s reign of terror ends here. We will make sure of it.

She stirs and tilts her head up, surprise in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. Do you need me to move?”

“I need you to kiss me,” I murmur, bending to meet her lips with my own. The languidness of this moment lends itself to a soft exploration. The softness of her lips and the way she likes to tilt her head… Sucking and nibbling, I taste her willingness to stay in the moment and not acknowledge the desire rising between us.

She pulls away and whispers, “They’re on their way back.”

“Do you want me to order you some breakfast?”

She shakes her head and bites her lip. “I want you. Slow and unhurried. Before the chaos of the rest of the world intrudes.”

Seconds later, I’m striding into my room and laying her in the middle of my unmade bed. Her blond hair frames her strong jaw and delicate features. Surprise flares in the depths of her light green eyes, and I glance down to see what she’s looking at and realize I forgot to put my glove back on.

“Sorry, I forgot. If it bothers you, I can close the curtains,” I murmur, my abs clenching with the need to grab a glove from the dresser.

“Show me,” she demands in a soft voice.

Pulling off the other glove, I hold my hands up to the light so she can see them in all their ugly glory.

“More than fire ravaged your hands,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek.

She takes a deep breath and sits up. Then she whips off the tank and turns, letting me look my fill.

“Different textures, uneven scars, and a universe of pain. It’s all there. But the story it tells isn’t one of ugliness but one of courage and strength,” I rasp, emotion clogging my throat. “May I?”

She grips the sheets with her hands and nods.

My lips travel the seams made by the skin grafts and hot coals up to her delicate ears where I capture her lobe, sucking lightly. My arms wrap around her to cup her breasts and map them by touch alone. I skim the tips of my incisors down her long neck, teasing her with the pleasure she knows they bring.

Pulling her down to lie on the bed, I shift until I can tongue that delicate collarbone and kiss the pulse at the base of her throat.