Chapter 3

Spencer

We travelin silence with all the lights of the truck we've commandeered cut out. The battle may be over, but we don't know what lies out there in wait for us or whether another strike may be weaving its way towards us at this very minute.

Tristan lies cocooned in my arms. He's waning, with every minute that passes slipping away and I curse under my breath and tell the professor to put his goddamn foot on the gas. Rhi's friend glances at Tristan's ashen face and then my own, then rests her hand upon my arm. So recently transformed from wolf form, her touch makes me flinch, my body sensitive, tender. But I know she means well, and though I want to scream at her too, I bite my tongue. It won't do any good. We need to deliver Tristan to his family, and then we need to find Rhi.

The concerned expressions etched on the enforcer and the professor's faces tell me they have about as much idea about where she is as I do. But at least she must be alive. The enforcer is her bonded mate. If anything had happened to her, if she were … I screw up my eyes. He'd know. He'd feel it. Fuck, would he feel it!

There must be a way to find her. There must be.

The beast inside me is silent and I'm surprised by it. I expected him to be raving and riling, straining to be released. Desperate to find her, tearing down walls, thundering across the countryside. Shit, hitching a lift on the back of a dragon just to get to her. However, although he's as aggravated as I am to find the girl, he isn't fighting this course of action. For once, we're in agreement. We need to save Tristan Kennedy, although I suspect our motives for doing so are different.

We hit a series of bumps in the road, our bodies buffeting about, Rhi's friend falling against the boy next to her – her date – as he grabs for the handle hanging from the vehicle's roof, then we veer around a corner and the big houses of the capital's expensive suburb comes into view. They're mostly untouched – only the buildings in the city's center are captured in flames – and I wonder how many of the great families are holed up inside, sheltering, and how many were out fighting for our freedom. I think of my own mom, my own dad, far from here. Are they safe? Shame swims through me, making me wince when I realize it's the first time tonight I've thought of them. All my focus has been on Tristan and Rhianna.

There are no other vehicles on the road, the tree-lined streets deserted, and we soar along out to the mound, out to the Kennedy place, its large iron gates standing guard against the world.

For a moment, I expect them to remain like that – closed – barring our entrance, but the magical charm kicks in and they part for the heir of the family and his kin.

Stone skids the truck to a halt in front of the mansion's steps and I stare up at the house. All the lights are out. But that's not unusual. It was never somewhere that screamed life and party and all that crap. It always gave me the fucking creeps.

The man in black opens the door for me, offers to take Tristan, but I refuse. He's my friend. I found him. I'm not letting him go just yet. Not until I know he's safe.

I ignore the niggle at the back of my mind, the one whispering to me, telling me how ill he looks, how close to death he must be. I ignore the whiff of death I keep catching in his scent as well. Refuse to goddamn acknowledge it. I won't let him die. Not him too.

Not him too! As much a brother to me as my own was.

The others trail behind me as I race him up the steps, the great doors drawing open as I near, and the figure of his mom stepping out into the night, her face as pale as her son's, her hands shaking.

"Tristan?" she asks with trepidation, peering at the body in my arms.

"Yes, Ma'am," I step forward, half expecting her to shrink away, "Tristan."

"Bring him inside," she instructs, glancing at the others crowding around me. "Azlan," she says, addressing the enforcer, "your father and uncle have gone to the council building."

The enforcer is already turning on the steps, descending three at a time. "I have to go," he calls out.

"You're going to join them?" his aunt asks.

"No, I have to … Rhianna …"

"Azlan?" Tristan's cousin appears in the doorway beside her aunt. "Azlan, what's wrong?"

The man in black freezes, then turns again, racing up the steps. His sister runs to meet him, flinging herself into his arms as they wrap each other in a tight embrace.

"Ellie, you're okay?" he asks, releasing her.

"Yes, but …" she trails off as she sees her cousin for the first time. Her gaze jumps back to her brother in alarm. "Rhi?"

The enforcer's jaw hardens and he shakes his head.

Ellie gasps, her hands flying to cover her mouth, her body shaking, but then Stone lays a hand on her shoulder, scowling at his friend. "Missing, Ellie. Not … not …"

"We have to go find her." The enforcer's jaw is hard, his eyes steely.

Rhianna's friend steps forward. "You know where she is?" The enforcer's entire body stiffens further. He shakes his head. "Then you need to stay here – all of you – and fix Tristan first."

My friend is weakening with every wasted moment arguing like this, he's slipping from us.

Tristan's mom senses it; her face is white with alarm. She takes my wrist in hers and pulls me through into the house and into the grand dining room, leaving the others to bicker on the doorstep. The long dining table occupies nearly all the space, its surface polished to perfection. So polished I can see my face reflected back up in it, bloodied, dirty, covered in soot.

"Lay him down," she says.

"Here?" I say. The wood is hard, solid, cold.

"Yes," she snaps with a little impatience, rolling up the sleeves of her cream blouse and pocketing her rings. "Ellie," she calls and the young woman comes scurrying inside. Tristan's mom waves her hand. "Fetch me my things."

Ellie nods, then sprints away and Tristan's mom looks down at her son, resting her palm tenderly on his golden crown.

"Tristan," she whispers, but even his mom's voice isn't enough to rouse him. He lies there unresponsive, unmoving, his magic a mere whisper in the air. "You tried to heal him?" she asks me, eyes still fixed to his face.

I shuffle forward. "I tried. I … I couldn't. There was something … something …"

"A curse most likely," she says, and the slur I so often hear in her voice is no longer present. For once her voice is clear and focused, her eyes too. "Dark magic."

"Crimson?" I ask.

She peers into her son's eyes, her hand still resting on his forehead. "No, it's not crimson magic, not scarlet. It's not as ancient as that," she says, her eyes closed, "but its intentions are dark."

"Can you …" I swallow.

"Heal him?" Her eyes snap up to mine.

I nod. She doesn't answer and her niece returns with a large wooden box, the others sidling into the room after her.

"You decided to stay?" she says, her stiff words directed at Azlan.

"For now," he answers.

"That girl has been nothing but trouble," she mutters.

"That girl is your son's fated mate," the professor spits.

What?!

I take a stumbling step away from the table.

Her fated mate!

What the fuck?

Is that true? It can't be, can it? And yet … and yet … The memory of the two of them together in the meadow comes crashing back into my mind. Was it right there in front of my eyes all along? Plain to see?

I wait for the beast to spit and howl inside me. But he's quiet. As if this earth-altering piece of news was already known to him. Had always been known to him.

But this can't be right!

I am certain of two things. Tristan Kennedy hates Rhianna Blackwaters. Rhianna Blackwaters hates him back. They can't be fated mates.

But then I think of that day in the meadow again; their magic playful, joyful, twining and spinning around one another. The girl laughing so freely it made my stomach flip.

I remember Tristan's obsession too. As raw and all-consuming as my own. Maybe I knew. Maybe I knew it all along, but chose my damn hardest to ignore it. Like everything else about her.

I scrub my hand over my face, feeling the soot and the dried blood on my skin.

There's a stunned silence. Everyone as shocked by this piece of news as I am. Or maybe not everyone. The girl's friend, Winnie, seems unperturbed, and Tristan's mom … I observe her face. The news does not seem to have shocked her either. Did he tell her?

She says nothing, waving her hand over the box, polished like the table and decorated with an ivory inlay of twisted flowers. I remember Tristan once telling me his mom had been a talented magical back in her youth, top of her class, just like him. My own mom had once hinted at it too. It's what Tristan had surmised had interested his father in her – beautiful and powerful. She's always been beautiful, but I could never see that power or that talent. She looked tired to me, nervous. She always smelled of fear.

The box's lock clicks and she lifts the lid away. Inside are tiny bottles and paint brushes and it looks almost like the tools of an artist and not of a magical. They are also old and dusty, clearly untouched in many years.

Tristan's mom runs her fingers over the bottles tenderly, as if they are dear friends. Ones she's been long separated from.

"It's a curse," she says. "But what kind I can't be certain." She looks up at the professor, lurking in one corner and scowling. "Phoenix?"

His body jerks as if his thoughts were elsewhere, but then he steps forward. He peers down at her son and rests his hand on my friend's forehead like his mom had done. His brow furrows in concentration.

"Ahhhh," he grunts, "it's a dark curse, a bitter one – malediction or execration maybe."

"That's what I thought." Tristan's mom frowns too. "But I need to know the exact curse if I'm to remove it."

There's silence.

Ellie fidgets on her feet, wringing her hands. "Surely, you can … we can't let him–"

"May I try?" Rhianna's friend steps forward hesitantly. She's still wearing a ball gown, ripped and torn to shreds, and her hair hangs in a tangled mess around her crown.

"And you are?" Tristan's mom asks.

"Winnie Wence."

"And you think you could–"

"Winnie's one of our most talented students," the professor says, and my gaze flicks to Rhianna's friend. Is she? I hardly ever noticed her until Rhianna showed up. She never spoke in class, rarely stepped forward to demonstrate her powers.

"Please," Tristan's mom says with a pain I feel right in the center of my chest.

Winnie steps to the side of the table, Stone withdrawing to make room for her. She glances down at Tristan. Even with the color drained from his face and the life seeping away from his body, he is still beautiful, like a marble statue, perfectly crafted. She brushes the hair from his brow and rests her own hand there far more gently than Stone had.

She closes her eyes.

I scrub my hand down my face again, gaze flicking between her and my friend.

"Well?" I snap impatiently after what feels like forever.

"I don't think it's any of those curses." She grimaces, her voice shaking when she speaks again. "I think …" she swallows. "I think it's a pernicious curse."

There's a collective intake of breath.

"It can't be!" the enforcer says firmly. His sister's body shakes silently and tears slide down her face.

Winnie steps away and Tristan's mom rushes back to place her hand where Winnie's was.

She closes her eyes, mouth moving with words I don't hear.

"Those curses," Winnie's boyfriend whispers. "They were used by … by …magicals from the West."

Winnie nods. "Those soldiers, they were from the West, weren't they?" Her eyes are full of fear and they swivel between me and the enforcer.

"The attack came from over the border." I confirm. "They had dragons. We were taken by surprise. We couldn't stop them."

"Where the hell did they get dragons?" Stone mutters to his friend, shaking his head.

But the enforcer's attention is locked on his aunt and his cousin. "Pernicious?" he says.

"Yes," Tristan's mom says. "Winnie is right. It is a pernicious curse."

Ellie's tears fall harder and she turns away.

"Then there's nothing that can be done," the enforcer says with that steeliness in his tone once again.

My knees buckle. My heart cracks.

"No, Azlan. There is something that can be done."

"Aunt!!" Ellie says, spinning back around and reaching for Tristan's mom. "You can't!"

"What?!" I ask them, but they don't hear me. "What?!" I ask, turning to Stone and then Winnie.

"The only way to remove the curse," Winnie says, her voice so quiet I barely hear it, "is for another magical to take it from him. Another magical who shares his blood." A tear slides from her eye and she brushes it away with her fingers. "The stronger that blood connection, the more chance of a successful removal. But it means …"

I glance back at Tristan's mother, already pushing up the rolled-up sleeves of her designer blouse. "The curse would infect the other person instead."

"Yes," Winnie says. "It would kill them."