Page 102 of Shattered Stars
I manage a nod. I can tell he wants to ask me what happened, but it’s too dangerous here. Too many prying ears and curious eyes.
He helps me up onto his bike, wrapping my arms tight around his body, squeezing my hands, and then getting us the hell out of here.
37
Stone
I pace the front room,peering at my watch, pacing and peering some more, the ticking hands on my watch barely registering. I know they are safe, I can feel it in the bond in the pit of my stomach, but until I see it with my own eyes, until she’s safe and sound in my arms, I’m not going to truly believe it.
I hover by the window, watching the street, then pace some more, scrubbing my hands through my hair and feeling like I might go insane.
Finally –finally– I hear the rush of his bike and immediately I skid through the room and hallway, waiting by the door.
I hear their footsteps, the turn of the key, the creak of the door and then she’s falling into my arms. I catch her, dragging her close into my body, and peer up at Azlan.
“You weren’t followed?” I ask.
“No, we took a deviating route. York will be expecting us back soon though.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Azlan says anxiously, closing the door behind him.
“Rhi?” I say.
She’s shivering, her skin pale and cold.
“Let’s get her a drink,” Azlan says, “bring her through to the sitting room, Phoenix.”
I lift her into my arms, cradling her against my chest, and carry her through, lowering her down onto his couch.
“What happened?” I ask again, brushing the hair away from her face. “Sweetheart, what happened?”
She looks up at me with sad eyes that nearly break my heart and invites me to see. I hesitate, then taking her hand in mine and kneeling by her side, I enter her thoughts.
“What the fuck?” I growl. “I’m going to kill that wrinkly bastard.” She shakes her head limply, imploring me to look further. There’s more? Apprehension shivers down my spine. He tortured her, threatened to burn her face, how can there be more?
It’s not as bad as I feared, though. He doesn’t know about our bonds, about her fated mates. He’s ignorant – at least at the moment – about the powers Rhianna possesses. But she’s hurting.
“Your parents?” I whisper, as Azlan joins us, offering her a steaming cup of cocoa.
“I added a shot of whisky,” he says. “Drink some.”
He holds it to her lips and, cradling her hands around his, she sips at the concoction, bringing color to her cheeks.
“He said my father was a dark magical from the West. He said my mom was killed, tortured with … with crimson – scarlet – magic.”
Azlan looks at me, then drops to his knees alongside us.
We’ve been waiting for this, for her to tell us, to broach this subject. To know for sure.
“Crimson magic,” Azlan repeats.
“That kind of magic is bad, isn’t it? Evil, dark.”
I tilt my head to one side. “That’s what you’ve heard? What you’ve read?”
“Yes,” she says, then hesitates, “and what I’ve felt.”
