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“Then figure it out.” He turned from her and crossed the room. “You are not cruel, Tegan, but your words and actions arehurtinghim, and he is my dad, even if you wish he wasn’t yours.”
The door slammed behind him, and Tegan looked at the closed door helplessly. She didn’t know what they wanted from her. Michael was her brother, and even though he wasn’t there when she was growing up, she had always known about him. Known he was a good fighter, a clever strategist and a worthy opponent. Zahra, she knew, liked feminine things, parties, dolls, dressing up. Zahra was as alien to Tegan as spots were on zebras. Meeting her hadn’t dissuaded her from her preconceived thoughts that she and Zahra had nothing in common. Sloane, how could she not love Sloane? Her cousin was the companion she had been missing her whole life. Sloane fit into her life as easily as a missing jigsaw piece.
Salem was…Salem.
He had let her mother down. He had broken her heart. Leonid resented him.Sheresented him. Resented that he had a family and a wife who wasn’t her mother. Her mother was dead, and had he even wept? Had he felt the pain that her mother had every day when he chose another? Tegan quickly wiped at her eyes, angry at herself for beingangryat actions carried out a long time ago. Salem had a family, and he moved on. Celeste Ivanov was never his to choose, Tegan reminded herself. The Ancients had been cruel to them both. She now knew that Salem had tried to fight for Celeste, but his sense of duty overrode his own desires. And in his own words, he had made what he had with Mikayla work because he had to, and in time, that work had paid off. He had grown to love his wife, and it was clear he adored the children she had given him.
Salem was not a bad male, he was far from a bad male, Tegan mused. He just wasn’therfather. He hadn’t taught her how to swing a kali stick, he hadn’t taught her how to throw a knife, he hadn’t taught her how to burn a Drakhyn and collect every flake of ash, he hadn’t taught her how to jump from a tree and sail over a thirty-foot electric fence reinforced with spells and land on her feet, weapons drawn, ready to face a family who didn’t know she existed.
He hadn’ttaughther to be a fighter.
“You look radiantly…furious,” Cord drawled as he strolled through the interconnecting door from Sloane’s empty room.
“Ugh, you.” Tegan turned away from him. The Castor would see her tears, and he would ask and ask and ask until she either stabbed him or screamed.
“Well, aren’t you an overflowing bundle of sunshine,” Cord said sarcastically as he walked up behind her and brushed her hair away from her shoulder. He placed a kiss on her bare skin, smiling when he felt her tense. “Why do you pout, little tiger?” he mocked in her ear.
“I donotpout, Castor,” Tegan growled as she stepped away from him only to be caught when his arm came around her and pulled her back to his chest.
“Now now, don’t lie, it’s a terrible habit.”
“You lieallthe time.” Tegan turned her head to look up at him in outrage.
“I’m special.”
“You’re a buffoon.”
Cord laughed as he dropped his arm from her and stepped back. “You’re definitely angry,” he said with a smile. “There are many females who would be happy to be in my arms,” he baited her and felt the thrill of excitement as Tegan’s eyes narrowed on him.
“Yes, I met some of them at your House while you were gone.” Her words dripped with her disdain. “They were not shy in letting me know howspecialthey were to you.”
Cord laughed his delight. “You positively glow when you’re jealous,” he crowed. Tegan sniffed her contempt at his remark as she turned away from him again. “Little tiger, do you expect me to have lived like a mouse, like you? Hidden away from the eyes of all?”
“I don’t care what you did or who you did it with,” Tegan snapped at him, her eyes flashing with anger. “What I do not appreciate isyou”—her cold look made him lose his smile—“posturing like a peacock in delight at the number of females you have had in your bed. I don’t care about who they were, when they were or what they meant to you, or may still mean. It bothers me not.”
Cord blew out his cheeks as he watched her. So vibrant. So alive. “You’re stunning,” he commented simply. “I cannot concentrate on anything when I look at you and you look back at me with such…vivacity.”
“You are always playing games, toying with me, confusing me with your actions and your words.” She met his gaze steadily. “I cannot win with you, there is no point,” Tegan murmured as she crossed the room to pick up her scarf like…thing. Wrap? Was that the word Martha used? She pulled it over her shoulders, freezing when she recognised the embroidered design on his red bands on his tunic matched her designs on her wrap. “By Harrian’s wrath, I cannot even escape you or yourMarkon my clothing.”
Cord decided it was better not to comment. “The Sisters wish for us to convene with them before the gathering. I am here to take you to them.” Cord considered her as she fussed with her wrap. She was out of her comfort zone, and something had upset her, something more than him.
“No.”
Cord grimaced as he thought about it. “I don’t think it was an offer, more of a command,” he said carefully.
“Castor, I said no.” Tegan walked to her door. “Tell them to stop the theatrics and thesepointlessballs and let us fight this war. Until then, I am busy.” Her hand dropped when the door wouldn’t open, and she turned her head slightly to talk to him over her shoulder, not actually turning to face him. “Castor, I warn you.”
“I will get Michael—”
“Don’t!” Tegan cried, spinning to face him. “Please.”
Cord studied her as she bit her bottom lip, her hands clenched at her sides, her eyes staring at the floor to avoid his scrutiny. “That must have cost you dearly,” he murmured as he stepped closer and noted her small smile at his words. Reaching forward, he caught a lock of her hair and watched it slip through his fingers. Wide blue eyes looked up at him, and he was not happy to see the sheen of unshed tears. He stepped back slowly. “Sit tight, little tiger, I will return.”
Cord had then portalled to get the one male he knew may talk sense into his bonded.
Garrick stood in front of his mirror and looked at his reflection. His crimson robes were a source of great pride to him. Even after all these years, he still remembered the joy he felt the day his vial from his final Trial turned the water red.
“You look handsome,” his wife told him from behind. She was adjusting her necklace, a fire ruby pendant that hung from a string of diamonds. It had been his gift to her when he became Prime of his Cast.
