Pack Bound, page 12
‘No. It’s too dangerous.’
Cordelia sighed again and tucked her arm through Jason’s, ignoring Marcus as he stiffened. ‘It is not good to stifle your Pack Witches or your mate,’ she said to Jason as she led him forward and into the house.
He nodded, even though he knew she was speaking to Marcus. ‘My father mentioned that many times.’
‘Yes. He understood the value of certain freedoms.’ She sent a pointed look over her shoulder at Marcus, who stalked quietly behind them. ‘Marcus is right to protect you and the others.’
‘At last! Someone of reason speaks,’ Marcus said.
Jason held back the chuckle that rose into his throat at the man’s aggrieved tone.
‘Yes, but it is unreasonable to hold me back from doing my job,’ Cordelia countered.
‘I’m not holding you back. I’m sure Jason will agree you have been of great help to him and I’m happy for you to continue doing so.’
‘Yes, but from a distance, which is not really the same thing.’
‘It will have to do for now.’ Marcus’ tone was implacable. Final.
Jason completely understood. In fact, when he had Skye back in the embrace of the pack, he knew he would be far more protective of her than Marcus was of Cordelia and her coven. ‘And I appreciate everything you are doing for me.’
Cordelia sighed again as she led him into the fully refurbished kitchen. Gesturing for him to take a seat at the table, she headed over to the stove. ‘This room is the only one that no longer resembles a construction zone. I wish we had somewhere quieter to talk, but it will have to do. Now, tell me what brings you here today.’
As she busied herself making tea, Jason related what had occurred over the last few weeks, leading up to his interaction with Skye today.
When he finished, Cordelia sighed. ‘She’s blocking her powers herself.’
‘How can she be doing that without using them?’
‘Well, you need another witch or warlock to help set the spell. They must have helped her create a tap to keep her powers from flowing out. The tap would have to be left open a little, allowing drips of her magic to reinforce the spell, but no more—otherwise we would have sensed it and tracked her down before now.’
‘Okay. But why is she spilling magic out now?’
‘Over the years, because that tap hasn’t been turned on, the washer has got stiff and unyielding; so stiff and unyielding that even if she wanted to, it would be difficult to open the tap and let the magic flow freely. But then you come along and knock the tap a degree by your presence—and the fact that her father bound her to you. Magic gushed out, but because the tap is so tight, she can’t turn it off again. Nor can she turn it on fully without help. It’s trickling out. It would probably go unnoticed for longer, except that your presence makes it manifest, because not only is she tied to you as the Pack Witch, she is your mate.’
‘Is this dangerous? This trickling of power?’
‘No. The trickle is good. As was tying her power into the spell. Whoever canted it cared about her to some extent. Because if they dammed it up entirely, her power would have exploded long before now, killing her and anyone near her. Which it still might do if we don’t open the dam and allow her magics out. Despite the trickle, the pressure inside her will build inexorably every year until it gets to a point where it will explode regardless.’
‘No.’ Jason’s wolf growled, hackles rising. ‘I won’t let that happen.’
‘So how does Jason undo this tap spell?’ Marcus asked.
‘He doesn’t. You can’t uncant another witch or warlock’s spell unless they are dead. And Skylar isn’t dead.’
‘But you said another witch—’
‘I said another witch helped her with the spell. But the power used—it’s hers. It couldn’t have lasted so long if it wasn’t. She has to undo the spell. But to do that, we need her to turn on the tap to full.’
A chill chased through Jason. ‘Didn’t you say that could kill her?’
Cordelia reached out, gripped his hand. ‘It would, if it was released into the elements with no control to channel it through. But, don’t you see?’ She squeezed his hand, met his gaze with a smile of hope. ‘You are her channel. You can take in the excess of power while she brings it under control. You can help her in a way no one else can. As long as you are there to channel it as the tap is opened, then it will be fine. But she will need to be trained so that she doesn’t pour all of herself into you as she did when the mating bond snapped into place. Too much power and it could kill you. Not to mention she can’t be allowed to flame out again. Getting her to read the Pack Witch Diaries will be a start, although, another witch or warlock to train her would be better.’ She glared at Marcus. ‘We’ll talk.’
Marcus simply shook his head. ‘You can talk all you like. I’m not changing my mind on this. Not until I know it’s safe. That she’s safe.’
Cordelia opened her mouth to argue, but Jason turned his hand in hers, squeezed. ‘It’s okay, Cordy. Despite how much I’d love you to come and help with Skye, I support Marcus’ stance. He is right to protect you and your coven.’
She returned his squeeze. ‘I wish I could do more.’
‘You are doing more than enough.’ He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand and then let go, unable to stand the contact. The only witch he wanted to touch was his own. Taking in a deep breath, he said, ‘So, I need to find a way of making Skye accept her powers and getting her to a point where she can channel the flow of magic to me when it’s released. But how do I get her to release the power in the first place?’
‘You have to get her to cant this spell.’
Marcus handed her a piece of paper and a pen without being asked. A stab of jealousy slashed through Jason; to have that kind of connection was his dearest hope.
Cordelia scribbled a few lines on the paper and then passed it to Jason. As he read the words, a strange hum of power tingled through his fingers. He folded it and put it in his jacket pocket. ‘She’s not going to want to read this in her current state of denial.’
Cordelia made a sound of sympathy. ‘I know it’s not going to be easy, but I’m sure you can do it. You’ve made her use her powers before. I’m sure you can do it again.’
‘Do you think it’s safe for me to be around her?’ He held his breath, waiting for her response.
‘Yes. In fact, I think it might be best if you were close by, just in case her powers flare again. You’d be there to catch her, so to speak.’
He breathed out a sigh of relief. ‘Good. Great.’
‘I know it must be frustrating to your wolf that she doesn’t understand why she’s so drawn to you. But be patient. When she remembers what’s been blocked from her, I have a feeling everything will work out.’
Her words gave him hope. ‘Thanks, Cordy. I really appreciate your help.’
‘You’re the Alpha. It’s in your blood to find the best way forward for your pack. Trust in that.’
His heart warmed at her words. ‘I will.’ He stood, held his hands out to her. ‘You’re a good Pack Witch, Cordy, but an even better friend. I won’t forget this.’
‘Friends don’t keep debts.’
‘No, but we do remember.’
He turned to Marcus, who gripped his arm in a shake that wasn’t just a goodbye, it was a show of solidarity. ‘You will have your revenge. I will help you find who did this to you after you have secured your witch and ensured your pack’s safety.’
Jason’s smile turned into a ruthless grin as he gripped Marcus’ arm tightly and said the ancient words: ‘The Dark Moon will drown with the blood of those who have wronged me and mine. The McVales will not be trifled with.’
13
Skye woke from the dream with a sob, hot tears running down her cheeks.
She sat up abruptly, wiping the tears and taking in big gulping breaths. ‘What the hell was that?’ She’d been dreaming. But of what?
She couldn’t remember.
All that was left was the imprint of the moon shining in the sky and something dark and angry curling inside, snapping to get out.
Her power.
She could feel it even now, the tingling under her skin, the heat in her fingertips, the ache in her chest as her heart beat too hard. Taking in a shuddering breath, she firmed her lips, pressing her fingers into her eyes, willing the tears away, trying to calm down. ‘Stupid to be so upset over a dream. It doesn’t mean anything.’ Her voice echoed in the empty room but the tingling heat in her fingers did not dissipate. In fact, it was getting worse, like at the snow when she’d sparked blue flame out of her fingers.
No. This couldn’t be happening. What the hell had she dreamed to make her lose control like this? Had she been angry in the dream? She’d been fuming the night before after visiting her twin River and having dinner with Morrigan—her grandmother had denied having Skye followed.
In fact, she’d paled and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, ‘It couldn’t be them. It couldn’t be.’
But when Skye had tried to question her further, she’d clammed up and sent Skye home as if she was a naughty child.
She clenched her fists. She’d come home mad and because Bron was out and Shelley was on night shift, she’d gone to bed mad.
It was no wonder she was having stupid dreams that made her feel like she was losing control of her magic.
The tingle in her fingers intensified. Why wasn’t the spell working to stop it? She should have pain screaming through her head, blocking the magic. But it wasn’t. Which meant she had to stop it herself.
Right. If this was another lapse of her power caused by temper, she had to calm down. Focus. Concentrate on something else.
She swiped the last of the tears from her eyes and closed them. The room smelled of the candles Bron had insisted on burning over the last few weeks—rose and lavender mostly, with a hint of lemongrass. She breathed it in. Regardless of what Bron said it did, it smelled nice. She let the lovely scent linger in her nostrils, filling her with Bron’s loving joy.
The burn in her fingers began to fade. There, that was better.
She opened her eyes cautiously.
The room slowly came into focus in the dim light—the oak chest of drawers by the window; the E. Phillips Fox print on the wall of the girl sitting with her mother, learning her lessons; the dark burgundy curtains lit up like a sunset blaze as the light shone through them; her clothes dumped over the sea chest at the end of her bed and on the armchair in the corner; the books on her bedside table pushed to the side to accommodate the large mug of hot chocolate she’d made herself last night. She’d fallen asleep before drinking it and it sat there now, cold and unappealing with a skin tightening the surface.
Shelley would tsk at the waste.
She smiled.
The tingle left her fingers completely.
There. Another deep breath, a little less shuddering than the last. That was better. She was in control again. No need to panic.
The doorbell rang.
She glanced at the clock. It was only seven am. Who would be knocking at the door at this hour? Could Shelley have forgotten her keys? Not likely. It was more likely Bron had stayed out last night and was the one who’d forgotten her keys.
She shoved back the covers and slung her legs over the side of the bed. Why did she feel so heavy?
Groaning, she heaved herself out of bed, slammed into the doorjamb and stumbled up the hallway, swearing and rubbing her shoulder. Just before she got there, she looked down at what she was wearing—Betty Boop flannelette pyjamas. Could be worse.
She opened the door. Nobody was there.
Then she noticed it: a massive bunch of flowers.
Grinning, she bent to pick them up, breathing in the exotic rich scent of the roses—a scent that reminded her of happier times. Yellow for happiness, red for love and passion, her grandpa would say as he gave Morrigan roses he’d grown for her in their garden. Skye smiled at the memory.
But who were these flowers for? There didn’t seem to be any note. Maybe Adam had sent them for Bron. Bron was still playing the friend card, but could it be more?
With a smile curling her lips as she thought of the shit-stirring ahead, she pushed the door closed and walked towards the kitchen. She’d need to put the roses in some water before they began to wilt.
As she placed them on the kitchen table and unwrapped them, a card fell out, her name scrawled on the front. Surprised, she flipped open the envelope and pulled out the thick white card inside.
I hope you like roses. They reminded me of you—fiery and beautiful.
Are you swayed yet?
I’ll be in touch.
Jason xx
The words made her heart beat hard and fast in her chest. Heat raced through her.
Damn it! She couldn’t fall for Jason. The flowers were nice—her favourites, actually— but she had to be strong.
The phone rang. She jumped, then chastised herself for being so tense. She swallowed, took a deep, calming breath, then answered. ‘Hello?’
‘Skye.’ His voice, low and warm, shivered through her. ‘Skye? Are you there?’
Her muscles clenched and she swore she could feel the long, hard, thick, push of him inside her body, the strength of his back and chest under her fingers, the silk of his hair against her skin as he sucked and licked at her nipple.
She dropped the phone. It clattered to the floor, scooting under a chair. She crouched down to get it, banging her knees on the floorboards. ‘Shoot.’ The sharp pain brought tears to her eyes, thankfully stopping the spasms. But the desire was still there as his voice echoed through the phone, asking if she was okay.
‘Jason,’ she breathed. ‘Sorry. I dropped the phone.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. Can I help you with something? Is Tom not coming into childcare today?’
‘He’ll be there. I was just calling to see if you got my flowers. Did they make you smile?’
Did they make her smile? They made her more than smile, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. ‘They’re lovely. Thank you. Was that all?’
She waited, prepared for him to ask her out again, firming herself against the appeal of his melt-in-her-mouth voice so she could once again say no.
‘No. That’s all. I just wanted to see if you received the flowers and to hope you have a lovely day.’
‘Oh … well …’ That wasn’t what she was expecting. She almost felt disappointed. ‘You have a nice day too.’
‘Oh, I will. I’ll see you later.’ He hung up.
The scent of the roses tantalised her senses as she swore at the dead phone. ‘Damn you!’
Jason didn’t drop Tom off that morning as she expected. Instead, when Adam brought Tom in, he handed her a letter.
‘Jason asked me to give you this.’
‘What is it?’ she asked, eyeing it warily.
‘I don’t know. But from the sexual tension thickening the air yesterday,’ he said, lips widening, eyes glinting, ‘I think it might be a dirty—’
‘That’s fine. I’ll take it.’ She snatched it out of his hands before he could finish, wishing she could turn and march away. But it was only Tom’s second day, so she stuffed the letter into her jeans pocket, bid Adam a stiff goodbye and made certain the little boy was settled in first before sidling into the quiet of her office.
The letter burned a hole in her pocket and she headed to her desk, intending on throwing it in the bin. But when she got there, she pulled the letter out and put it in the top drawer instead.
When a bunch of red tiger lilies arrived at lunch with a note that said Can you deny what I said in my letter? she marched into her office, almost pulling the drawer out completely in her haste, and tore open the envelope.
He wrote about the day they’d met, the wine they’d shared, the passion that had burned between them. He reminded her of all the things he’d whispered in her ear, what he still wanted to do to her; the things he had done to and with her. But that wasn’t all. He said he’d never felt such a connection with someone before and dared her to deny she felt the same.
His words made her tremble.
She crumpled the letter up and threw it away, but before the day ended, she took it out of the bin, smoothed out the creases and put it in her handbag. She would never receive another letter like that in her life, she was certain. It was something to read when she was old and lonely, to remind her that she’d once made a handsome man lose control.
Chocolates were delivered that night.
She refused to eat them, giving them to a delighted Shelley and Bron, saying they were a gift from a family that was moving away.
She went to bed in a mood and when she finally fell asleep, dreamed about the man who was bringing her to the brink of insanity with his gifts of flowers and chocolates and the erotic letter.
As usual, dreams of him were followed by dreams of using her magic, and she woke up in a cold sweat, swearing at him and the universe for doing this to her.
There were more roses on the doorstep when she left for work the next day. She snatched the note off them before a curious Shelley could see it and, walking back inside, handed them to Bron, saying, ‘These must be for you,’ before turning and marching back out again.
Adam brought another letter that day, a smirk on his face as he handed it over. She snatched it from him and tucked it away, planning to never read it.
Of course she did.
Then had to stay in her office for half an hour while the blush and trembling faded.
More flowers arrived—at lunch; waiting for her on the doorstep at home that night; and again the next morning. He sent chocolates at lunch—they came with a note thanking her and the staff for making Tom feel so at home, but she knew he’d sent them so she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about him. She’d grumbled at Adam when he arrived to pick Tom up that night. ‘You can tell your brother he can stop the charm offensive. It isn’t working.’
