Pack Bound: Pack Bound Series Book 1, page 14
Skye pulled out the chair next to his and sat, taking his hands in hers. ‘Oh, River. You’re not looking after yourself. You look terrible.’
He chuckled, the blank lack of expression finally disappearing from his eyes. ‘You’re one to talk. Have you ever heard of sleep, little sis?’
Her lips twitched. ‘I was going to say the same to you.’
He frowned. ‘I sleep. It’s just … the dreams. They’ve been so vivid. I keep seeing him.’ He looked away from her. ‘So like his father, but so much angrier. Don’t you think?’ He turned back to her, his frown deepening as he saw the puzzled look on her face. ‘But you don’t remember, do you? That’s okay. The dreams help me to remember.’
‘I don’t dream.’
‘You know that’s a lie, Skye. Everyone dreams. In fact, you’ve come here today to talk to me about your dreams.’
Skye bit her lip, trying to swallow down the frisson of fear his words caused. It was uncanny how he sometimes knew what she was thinking and feeling. But here wasn’t the place to delve into that mystery. ‘Do you feel like going for a walk outside? We can have a nice chat.’ She glanced around the kitchen. ‘You can tell me whatever’s bugging you without anyone overhearing.’
‘A walk outside would be nice.’
Skye grabbed his hand in hers and led him outside to the garden.
He tipped his head up to the sky as they walked and breathed in long and deeply. ‘I love the sun on my face. It almost makes me feel normal; like the nightmares don’t exist.’ His face darkened and he stared down at his feet. ‘But they do.’ He looked at her. ‘Don’t they?’
She shivered, not wanting to talk about that yet, and pulled him along. Very quickly his attention was diverted by a couple of birds playing in a tree.
They passed the sculptured hedges and the rose garden before she spoke. ‘Why aren’t you eating, River? What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing’s wrong with me that can’t be fixed if you’d just embrace who you are.’
Damn. She really didn’t want to talk about this now. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He swung to face her. ‘Why are you fighting it, Skye? Why?’
She tried not to bite her lip as her gaze swept over the scars marring his cheek from forehead to jaw. ‘You know why.’
He touched his face, stared off into the distance. ‘I’m not talking about this. It’s your destiny. I know he’s come. I know he’s here.’ He sniffed. ‘I can smell him on you.’
Skye tried to laugh off his words, but the laugh came out squashed somehow. ‘Are you saying I need a shower?’
‘No. You smell nice. It’s his scent. It’s not just on you. He’s touched you deep inside.’ He placed his hand over her heart. ‘Here. He’s imprinted on your skin, in your heart.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I can feel him through the twin bond. So much heat and passion. The power of it is so strong I can almost taste it.’
Skye began to shake her head, but he stopped her by grabbing both her hands.
‘Don’t deny it. I know you feel the twin bond too, even though you do your damnedest to ignore it. Anything that feels like magic to you must be abhorred, isn’t that right?’
‘Magic killed our parents,’ she said, shocked by his words. ‘Magic destroyed your life and made it so you can’t leave this house and gardens.’ She tried to pull her hands out of his grip, but he wouldn’t let go. ‘My magic scarred you. It almost killed you.’ She closed her eyes against all those pains, and the one that still cut her more deeply than she ever imagined it could. ‘It has taken so much from us both.’
‘You will have children, Skye.’
Her gaze flashed up to his. ‘You know I can’t,’ she whispered, surprised and hurt by his perceptiveness.
‘Miracles happen.’
‘Not for us, River. Not for us.’
‘Is that why you deny this man?’
His hazel eyes pierced hers, the golden flecks in them almost seeming to glow in the spring sunlight. She couldn’t look away.
‘How do you know that?’
He smiled. ‘I may be bordering on insane and drugged out much of the time, but I’m not stupid. You wouldn’t be this upset over anything else.’
Skye’s mouth dropped open. The medication the psychiatrist had River on often made him too spacey to make much sense out of anything, but in his rare lucid moments he could be incredibly perceptive, his intelligence razor sharp.
Sadness clutched at her heart, clenched in her belly. He could have done so many things. If not for what happened the night their parents died and the trauma he suffered because of it, he would have had a remarkable life—of that she was certain.
River began to chuckle then turned, tucking her arm in his, and continued to walk along the path. ‘It’s okay, Skye. You don’t have to talk about him, even though that’s what you came here to do. But let me show you what I’ve been working on lately.’
He led her down a new path that zigzagged between jasmine-covered screens hiding a corner section of the garden from view of the house. When she stepped around the last of the screens, she gasped.
River had created a little oasis of peace and solitude against the backdrop of the crumbling sandstone walls. Ferns and rocks were scattered about on the Japanese-styled pebble garden beds that led up to and around a waterfall spilling from rocks piled up against the wall. A Japanese maple stood in one corner and miniature cherry trees were scattered around the space, their pink-hearted blossoms a splash of colour against the dark wood of the tree boughs, while cheery yellow daffodils and purple irises nodded in the slight breeze. An old wrought-iron bench seat had been placed in one corner under the boughs of an elm tree that draped itself over the wall.
‘It’s beautiful, River.’ She took in a deep breath, the sweet scent of the jasmine filling her lungs. ‘You should be a landscape designer.’
He shook his head, touching one of the curled fern fronds as they walked through the space. ‘No. This is a hobby. I’m just lucky Grandpa bought a house with a large enough garden and that Grandmother allows me to do what I will with it.’ He sat on the bench, staring at the waterfall he’d made.
Skye took a seat beside him. They sat in silence, and she marvelled at the way the water looked like sheets of clear silk as it fell from the wide slit in the rocks and down into the green pool below. The rush and tinkle of it was its own special music. She breathed in the scent of the jasmine behind her, the muddy tang of the freshly laid soil and pebbles in the garden bed, the fresh scent of wood chips and mulch. A bird flew overhead, chirping, followed by another to play among the budding boughs of the Japanese maple.
‘I long for that.’ River’s voice broke the silent magic of the moment.
‘For what?’ Skye turned to look at him. He was watching the birds.
‘To have such a sense of freedom. To have no cares.’ He looked down at her, his eyes filled with such eternal sadness that she could barely stand looking at them. ‘Perhaps you will tell me about him another time.’
Skye swallowed, nodded. This had been a bad idea. Her inner turmoil was affecting River and she had to stop it. ‘There’s nothing to tell. A man has been sending me flowers and trying to get me to go out with him.’
‘You should.’
‘What?’
‘Go out with him. He’s good for you. He’s meant for you. He brings the truth. He can help break the spell.’
Skye closed her eyes. ‘I am not a princess in a tower waiting for the prince to come and save me, River.’
‘That’s what you think. If only you would wake up, then we both wouldn’t be dying inside.’
His expression, filled with sadness and longing, pinned her in place.
But then he cocked his head and jumped up. ‘Cook is back.’ He sniffed. ‘And she’s got steak. I think maybe I’m hungry after all.’ He began to run back up the path, disappearing behind the jasmine-covered screens. Before she could react, he popped his head back around the last screen to say, ‘Are you coming? By the smell of it, Cook has bought enough steak to feed an army. You will eat with me, won’t you, Skye? Please?’
She didn’t have the heart to tell him there was no way he could smell Cook or her steaks from here and that Cook might not have bought them after all, not when he looked at her with those pleading eyes.
‘Okay.’ She stood, walking over to him.
His eyes flashed at her as she came up beside him. ‘Race you.’
He took off up the path before she could answer, his long, loping stride helping him to move so fast it was almost inhuman. His laugh echoed back to her through the garden. He always took such joy in running.
What the hell, she thought, why not act like a child? It was better than being a confused and depressed adult.
With a whoop, she ran up the path behind him, enjoying the rare moment of fun, an echo of better times, and left her problems, for now, in his little water-garden oasis behind them.
Cook had bought steak; enough for an army as River had said. They sat and chatted while she cooked them steak sandwiches and Skye tried to pretend it was like this all the time.
After they’d eaten, they played cards and talked nonsense, but after an hour, River began to get tired like he always did. ‘How about we go upstairs? You need your afternoon nap.’ She held out her hand and he took it, walking meekly beside her upstairs to his room.
She tucked him into bed, kissing him on the forehead like their mother used to do.
‘Don’t go,’ he said, his eyes already drooping.
‘I have to. You know that. But I promise I’ll visit in a day or so.’ She kissed him again and walked towards the door, her heart a tight knot in her chest.
As she opened the door, he said, ‘Skye?’
She turned and smiled. ‘Yes?’
‘Go to him. You can trust him. He is for you. Ask Grandpa.’
Skye’s lips trembled. She knew she should remind him Grandpa was dead, but she couldn’t bring that sadness to him right now. If he didn’t remember what had happened, she wasn’t about to enlighten him.
She nodded, blew him a kiss, closed his door and headed downstairs.
Nobody was about. Morrigan still hadn’t come home from her charity do. Skye sighed. That particular argument would have to wait for another day. She grabbed her coat and handbag and let herself out.
As she drove away, she realised she was none the wiser about how to deal with Jason and what he was doing to her. She still needed to talk to someone about it and River’s mention of their grandpa made her realise just who that someone had to be.
Tears in her eyes, she turned onto the freeway, heading towards Springvale Cemetery.
She drove through the high brick walls with only a half-hour to spare before closing and parked in the area closest to where her grandpa was buried. She could see Harrison Cantrae’s headstone above the others. A monument to ugliness in a splashy show of money, the ugly-arse angel Morrigan had chosen to commemorate her husband’s passing hovered over the simple grey marble headstone that had been Harrison’s choice.
Trying not to look at the angel as it glowered down at her, Skye instead concentrated on the name engraved under it and the photo embedded there.
Harrison Cantrae
1945-2010
Beloved husband, father and grandfather
Your strength will be missed by all
A tear ran down Skye’s cheek as she read the inscription. She sank to her knees and laid her head against the cold stone. It should have been no comfort whatsoever—cold and hard and unyielding grey marble—and yet it was. It was the closest she could come to the man who had faith she could deal with and keep a most sacred trust. She carried the burden of it on her shoulders and had done so since she was ten years old.
She started to talk, about Jason, the fears over her recent magical use and what that might mean. The words spilled out.
‘Bron says my magic is seeping through. That you designed it that way. But it can’t be that. You wouldn’t have done that to me. There must be something wrong with the spell. And perhaps Morrigan knows that, which is why she’s having me followed. Am I crazy? Or is there really something wrong with the spell?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with the spell, love.’
Skye bit her lip, not knowing if she could trust the voice anymore, but relieved to hear it again. It hadn’t really come to her since that day at the snow.
‘I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to forsake you. But you are so blocked it makes it hard to come through.’
Skye sat up slowly, unable to believe the words echoing in her ears. They didn’t sound like they were coming from inside her. It had been more like a whisper, the breath of sound; something she could feel on her skin.
‘You can trust me. I am so sorry that I had to do what I did. But it was necessary.’
The voice was more than a breath now. It was as if her grandpa stood beside her, talking. But that wasn’t possible. Was it?
‘Grandpa?’ she ventured. Shivers chased up and down her spine.
‘You must go to your grandmother. Morrigan knows what to do. You need to ask her why we did what we did.’
‘I know why. You bound my magic so I couldn’t hurt anyone.’
‘That’s only part of it.’ Her grandpa’s voice began to fade away. ‘Ask Morrigan. You must go to Morrigan.’
‘Has this got something to do with why she’s having me followed?’ The voice didn’t answer.
‘Grandpa?’ She turned around in a circle. ‘Please. I can’t go to Morrigan. She won’t talk with me about this.’
Her grandpa’s voice, the voice of the spell, didn’t answer. Or maybe it wasn’t the spell voice at all. It had sounded different—as if it was coming from outside her head.
What if it was actually the spirit of her grandpa talking to her?
If only that were true.
But that was a dream akin to River thinking she was a princess who needed saving.
Pulling herself to her feet, she swiped the tears from her face, pressed a kiss to her fingers and placed them against her grandpa’s name. ‘If I can’t think of anything else, I’ll go to Morrigan. I promise. But first, I’m going to go home and go to bed.’
As she left, a shiver chased icy fingers up her spine.
Refusing to give in to the need to turn around and see if she could catch whoever was following her, Skye returned to her car.
Behind her, a huge grey wolf slunk out from behind a large headstone and watched her drive away, its eyes glowing yellow in the fading light.
15
Morrigan seemed to be hiding from Skye, not returning her calls and wasn’t at Cantrae House any of the times Skye went to visit River over the next week.
Each time River saw her, he pleaded with her to wake up, to remember. The problem was she didn’t know what he wanted her to remember. She tried to get him to explain, but every time she pressed him, he’d go quiet, almost entering a fugue state for a few minutes before reverting to the childlike self he fell into with more and more regularity.
It was the calm before the storm.
She’d seen this before, the return to childhood that covered—but never entirely eclipsed—the anger boiling inside. Soon that anger would burst out of her twin in a violent outpouring that had become more and more dangerous the older he grew. She was so afraid this time would be the worst they’d seen; his medication just didn’t seem to be working anymore.
The only good thing was that her magics hadn’t manifested again. Not even a slight tingle. Even with the provocation Jason caused in his attempt to sway her.
The depressing thought she’d had about him giving up on her had died early Monday morning, when flowers had once again been at her front door. Each day since brought a new offering.
She told herself she shouldn’t be thrilled. She told herself to stop holding each bunch of flowers to her like a gift. She told herself not to open his notes with trembling hands, their words the warm slide of a knife straight to her heart.
The man himself was elusive, sending gifts and notes but never himself.
It had to stop.
The only solution was to pretend to give in. She needed to have a proper conversation with him, explain to him she would never get involved with anybody, so he was wasting his time with her. It didn’t matter how attracted they were to each other or how good sex with him had been. She had to make him understand that one night was all they’d ever have. But it wasn’t a conversation you could have over the phone. And, given she would see him on occasion because his nephew attended 4us2, she didn’t want things to be too awkward. Best to let him down as nicely as she could.
So, she would agree to go on one date with Jason and use that opportunity to explain. He would listen and then it would be done.
She ignored the way that thought felt like a stab to the heart and took his number from Tom’s enrolment form the next day. She saved it into her phone and endeavoured to slip outside and call him during sleep hour.
Unfortunately, Andy remained awake and was upset about something and would only be consoled by her, so she didn’t get to make her call. She’d do it after work.
Except, it didn’t happen then either. Bron needed her help at her shop—a pipe had burst and she needed help mopping up. By the time she got home, she was too exhausted to think let alone make such a crucial call.
Every day for the rest of the week, one thing or another stopped her from making her call. It was almost like the Fates didn’t want her to connect with him to let him down. At least, she’d think that if she believed in things like that.
Finally, waking on Saturday morning with still no call having been made, she vowed today would be the day. ‘In fact,’ she said to herself. ‘You’re going to call him right now. No excuses. No getting side-tracked.’ Except, she didn’t want to call him in her room—that was way too intimate. And she couldn’t go to the kitchen or lounge because Shelley or Bron could walk in on her at any moment.
