Page 9 of Embers of Fate
Gavriil stands stiffly at the window, his stare fixed outside towards the driveway. Panic courses through me—did he witness my arrival moments ago? No, I remind myself, the dense foliage obscures most of the view. He couldn’t possibly see through it. But what about Dima? Did my friend’s brother call and expose my secrets? Now anger brews inside me, my mind racing wildly with endless possibilities.
But the pandemonium only breaks on the inside. Outside, I remain cool as an iceberg. I may not possess my brother’s ability to physically shift into a bear, but I’ve learned to adapt and shift inotherways. Gavriil has forced that upon me. I pray this ordeal will be over soon.
Our gazes lock through the pane’s reflection and a shiver dances down my spine. Since the loss of his mate, shadows cling to Gavriil that no light can pierce. The permanent eclipse of grief darkens his countenance. This meeting will be no easy conversation between siblings.
“Samara...” Gavriil says in a low, chilled voice that makes me shudder.
My heart jolts into a gallop. I will be fine as long as he doesn’t touch me. As if I didn’t have it bad enough, my brother is a freaking empath. One brush of contact and he’ll sense my roiling anxiety. I must keep my distance.
I manage to stammer out, “You wanted to see me,” despite my dry mouth.
“You weren’t easy to find...” he retorts in a low growl. At last, Gavriil turns from the window, hands clasped rigidly behind his back. His broad shoulders are taut beneath his dark suit jacket.
When his hooded eyes lock on mine, gooseflesh shoots up my arms. The oppressive darkness hovering over him has become his steadfast companion since Luciana’s loss.
He frowns, taking a moment to arrange his thoughts with meticulous care. Then his piercing maroon gaze fixes on me once more. “We’ve been summoned to a séance.”
I glower at his pronouncement, but quickly master my features to neutrality. “A séance,” I repeat evenly.Never openly question the Ursa King’s decrees, even if he is your brother,warns the Brenda-voice in my head. Grudgingly, I heed her advice.
“On Samhain eve,” Gavriil adds, resuming his restless pacing before the imposing desk. The massive bear pelt draped over the chair is his prized trophy, claimed after defeating Grisha, our fiercest enemy, and his mate’s murderer. He treats the ghastly grisly spoils as a makeshift throne, a symbol of hard-won dominion.
My brother stops between the desk and the chair, facing me.
I remain silent. Samhain is my lone night of freedom, my chance to escape these suffocating walls. To maybe cross paths again with that alluring stranger from the club…
Gavriil’s eyes narrow, somehow sensing my unease. It’s as if he can scent the disappointment radiating off of me. He leans forward onto the desk, shoulders tensing beneath his jacket. “You seem...displeasedby this news,” he notes, a dangerous undercurrent in his deceptively mild tone.
I meet his stare directly, refusing to cower. We’ve been in Paris for over a year now, our sole intention to woo the most influential coven of witches. Gavriil plans to marry into the family. It’s madness. I know he doesn’t truly care for Cassandra Deveraux, the heiress. This is all just political maneuvering.
He remains silent, but the twitch in his jaw gives away his true feelings. He despises this hollow charade as much as I do. But now that he’s unattached and vulnerable, his advisors’ constant demands weigh heavily on him.
He presses on. “Is there something you’d like to say?”
My breathing picks up.Now is not the time for defiance,warns the ever-cautious Brenda-voice.Bow your head and obey. Bow, Samara!
But submission does not come easily tonight. I’m scared to death, but I push through the dread. “I can’t go,” I blurt out before I can restrain myself.
Gavriil stills, hands braced on the desk as he spears me with an icy glare. Barely leashed fury smolders in his maroon eyes.
“Samara,” he warns, his quiet voice strained with mounting frustration. “This is not a request. The Deverauxs have summoned us to a ritual, and we are going.”
Of course he’d leap at their command, never pausing to consider my wishes. “I have plans,” I tell him, determined. Where does this audacity come from? The booze. I blame the booze for giving me the courage to stand up to Gavriil for the first time in my life.
He sets his jaw tight, shutting his eyes and letting out a sharp breath.“Change them,”he all but mutters.
His fingers spread on the slab of maple wood and his broad shoulders flex, no longer stooped over the desk but ready topounceover it. My heart races as I wonder if he will shift into his bear form right here in front of me.
I quickly glance around the room, searching for Sasha. But he’s gone, leaving me alone with an unpredictable shifter. Fear creeps into my bones as I realize I may be in more trouble than I anticipated.
Even then, I won’t back down. “Since when do the Ursa serve at the beck and call of any clan?” I clench my fists, feeling my nails dig into my palms as I take a step forward, emboldened by my own words.
Gavriil’s head snaps up, eyes wide with shock as they fix on me. “You’ve been drinking,” he states, clearly stunned.
“No,” I force out, trying to sound more convincing than I feel.
His face flares red. “Don’t lie to me!” he thunders, fist striking the desk with a resounding crack.
My shoulders jump a little, but I don’t step back. I’ve had enough of his foul moods. I’m taking a stand. And if that gets the bear out of him, then so be it.
