Текст книги "Trammel "

Автор книги: Anah Crow

Соавторы: Dianne Fox
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FOUNDATIONS Or MAGIC

ANAH CROW & DIANNE FOX

Neither love nor magic comes without cost.

Foundations of Magic, Book 2

In the relative security of Atlantic City, Lindsay feels safe for the first time in his life. He and Dane even sneak away from their mage “family” for the occasional date.

All that ends with the arrival of Noah, whose magic is a pure, wild fire fueled by terrible grief over the loss of his wife. To Lindsay’s great surprise, he is assigned to be Noah’s mentor, protector and healer.

Of course, his efforts to help Noah master his immense power aren’t without a few fiery slip-ups.

Just as Lindsay is rising to the challenge, word comes that Moore, the scientist who once imprisoned Lindsay, holds a young girl who has manifested a powerful new magic. The desperate mission to free her leaves Noah severely wounded, Dane captured...and Lindsay in charge of those who remain.

The fate of Dane and the lives of the family rest on Lindsay’s untested shoulders. He must trust in himself and his growing connection to Noah to save his lover, his friends, and everyone else who will suffer if Moore’s plans go unchecked.

Warning: Contains graphic language, violence, and explicit erotic content.

eBooks are not transferable.

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

Macon GA 31201

Trammel

Copyright © 2011 by Anah Crow and Dianne Fox

ISBN: 978-1-60928-458-9

Edited by Anne Scott

Cover by Angela Waters

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: May 2011

www.samhainpublishing.com

Trammel

Anah Crow and Dianne Fox

Dedication

To the families we’ve made: Blood may be thicker than water, but love is thick like honey.

Chapter One

There were only a few photographs left in the box. Noah took one out carefully, holding it by a corner. One wrong thought and it would go up in flames. The carpet under his feet was dusted with ash and spotted with burns. Cradling the photo in his stiff hands, he sat on his bed and let the image draw him down into his memories.

Sun spilled across a stony beach and a sapphire lake, shredding into shadows and rays on the points of pines and cedars. Noah sat on a stone that jutted out into the lake like a prow and then plunged away hundreds of feet into the dark. Here, a glacier had pulled up short thousands of years ago, thought better of crawling south, and turned around to slink home, leaving a chain of lakes behind like footprints.

All around him, Noah could feel the weight of time and distance as well as the ephemeral presence of sun and stone and water. His camera was a familiar weight in his hands as he waited to capture the next perfect moment.

“I can’t believe you won’t come in.” A woman pulled herself up onto the stone at his feet, sprawling there like a mermaid. “You’re such a baby.” Her hair, wet, was barely darker than the sunlight. Her eyes were the same color as the lake.

“It’s cold,” he pointed out. He hated being cold.

“Only for a minute.” She got to her feet and took two steps closer, but turned her back on him and faced the water. “You can get used to anything, Noah. You’re strong.” She glanced back at him, just long enough for him to preserve her laughter, then she was gone.

One step, two steps, and her feet were off the ground. She was a pale sickle cutting the water. The water closed over her and all he could see was the white ghost of her diving deeper than he could go.

“She’s right, you know.” Noah’s sister sat on the bed beside him, bouncing him back into reality with her arrival.

Noah wiped his tears from the glossy face of the photograph. In the picture, his wife was still looking over her shoulder at him, still laughing.

“I don’t want to get used to it.” It hurt to move, but Noah pushed himself to his feet and took the photo back to the box on the table by the window. “I want to go swimming.”

“I don’t trust you to actually swim,” Rose said dryly.

“I’m not going to kill myself.” Noah was past the point of doing more than wishing for death.

“Being alive is punishment enough now?” Rose lay down on his bed with her head on his pillows.

Looking at her had been like looking in a mirror, once. Now there was barely any familial resemblance. His hair was gone, his neck and jaw twisted with scars, his mouth twisted with pain.

Rose was right. Of course she was right, she was cherry-picking in his brain.

“Why are we talking?” Noah sat on the hope chest at the end of his bed, on one of the myriad quilts that cluttered the family home. His mother had eight children and a farm, and she still had to ward off boredom by making enough quilts to bury them all twice over.

“Because you’re keeping me out.” There wasn’t any criticism in Rose’s tone. Noah looked back at her and winced as fragile skin and scabs cracked on one side of his face.

“Am I?” He turned his attention inward and he could feel it, all the halls and doors of his mind overgrown and choked with the clutter of every bit of Elle he kept hoarding so he wouldn’t forget her.

Behind it, in the center of him, there was a fire burning. “I’m sorry.” His hands were rough with scars when he covered his face with them.

“Noah. Noh. My Nonoh.” It was what she’d called him when they were babies.

Her soft arms wrapped around him from behind. They were almost a year apart, but they might as well have been twins. She cradled him against her; his back was barely scarred and she could rest against it.

He could feel her strong heart overriding his, like it was beating for him.

“Let me in, Noh.”

He exhaled and pushed open the nearest door by leaning his will against it. “It’s a mess in here,” he warned her.

“I know. I’ve been in here enough since you came home.” Her voice wasn’t outside him anymore.

“Someone had to keep it up until you came back. You were gone a long time.”

Gone. Not the time he’d spent away from the family, from the Quinn enclave deep in the Canadian North. Not the time he’d been out in the world without any magic to call his own. No, he had only truly left after the accident that had taken his wife. It had taken Elle and given him the magic he’d once learned to live without because he had her.

Gone. Every day, he woke on fire, his nerves screaming with the memory of burning and the absence of her and the heat of his wild magic. Every day, he was sorry his father had brought him back from the human world, dying—trying to die—and full of fire.

“You have to forgive the magic,” Rose said quietly. In his mind, she was sitting in the secret fort they’d shared as children. “It didn’t hurt you, it didn’t take her.”

“I know.” Noah sat on the dirt floor and picked up a twig to scratch at the earth. “You’d think I’d be able to make up a story I could live with. About how it was worth it in the end.”

“You used to tell the best stories. But you can’t make up stories like that.” When Noah looked back at Rose, she had a rag doll in her lap. “Those stories, you have to live, if you’re ever going to believe them.”

“Are you knocked up again?”

The moment broke and Rose tumbled out of his mind even as she fell back on the bed, laughing.

“You are.”

“You’re not the problem child around here, Noah,” she said, still laughing. She propped herself up on her elbows and shook her wild chestnut hair out of her face. “You just have problems.”

Noah held his hand out to her when she reached for him, the hand that was still missing the finger that had worn his wedding ring. She was careful not to tug too hard. The healers—his mother and Alice-from-up-river—were still working against his magic and his memories to heal him. The scars on the soul, the saying went, would never leave the flesh until they healed within.

“Come on, baby.”

He let his sister reel him in like a fish—his mind struggling against being comforted all the way—

until he was lying beside her with his head on her shoulder. Once, it had been the other way around. Once, he’d been the one to hold her; his familiar thoughts and his impotent magic had made his presence tolerable, even with her mind torn wide open.

When their father thought she didn’t need him anymore, he’d left the enclave and he couldn’t be there for her. She’d had her magic and all the pain it gave her and he’d had nothing, and he would have traded places with her in an instant.

“I know you would have,” she said, in his head. “Like I would now, except that it really is beautiful on you.” In her third eye, he was a pillar of sunlight with a halo like the heart of a candle flame. “It’s yours.

You’re going to be amazing.”

“Telling futures now?” He closed his eyes and listened to her sturdy heart.

“Best fortune teller is the past,” she quoted. “You always were amazing, Noah. You didn’t need magic to be magical. You’re not the one who watched you being beautiful all those years. People want to love you.”

“That’s what they call irony,” he said dully. Beauty was going to come slowly, if it came at all. There was only one love he wanted and the long years of his mage life stretched out like a galaxy between them now. Maybe he’d get– “Ow!”

Rose’s sharp nails left cruel little crescents of pain on his ear. “None of that.”

“Sorry.” Noah let the thought go and was rewarded by her kiss on his too-hot, too-thin scalp. “So, who’s Dad gonna kill this time?” He laid his hand on her soft belly, wondering who was in there instead of wishing he were dead.

“I have a list,” Rose said unapologetically, making him laugh with it.

“I love you.” He said it inside and outside.

A knock on the door was followed by the handle twisting and a dark head poking in. Ruthie.

“Hey, little bit.” Noah took a deep breath and pushed away all his negativity as he struggled to sit up without wincing. Ruthie was still waiting for her magic, still a spindly girl with unraveling braids and skinned knees. He always put on a good face for her. “Did you need something?”

“Daddy’s home,” she said solemnly, smoothing down her clean pinafore. “Mama says to come. He brought Nathan.”

Nathan had been sent all the way to Ireland, to a druid henge that needed a healer ready to step into the place left when one of the elders passed. The letter had come to them by way of the Australia Quinns, and Nathan had leapt at the chance to leave, even though it meant he might never return. That he’d come home could only mean one thing.

“You’re going,” Rose said softly.

“I know.” Noah got to his feet. Nathan had come to do what Mama and Alice couldn’t, to make him fit for the world again. “Thanks, sweetheart. Tell Daddy I’ll be right there.”

“You’re going?” Ruthie didn’t move, her small brown hand white-knuckled on the doorknob. She’d been stricken when he left the first time. “You can’t go. Who’s going to take care of you?”

“It’s important,” Rose said gently. “That’s how we survive, Twiglet.” She got up, shaking out her skirt in a gesture so much like their mother that it was eerie. “That’s how we make our families.”

“Noah’s sick, though.” Ruthie’s lower lip pushed out and her eyes glistened.

“His new home will make him better than his old one.” Rose looked over her shoulder at Noah, and he could feel the words she didn’t say: If he lets it. “Besides, they need him. He’s running late, this one.

You know what they say.”

“I know.” Ruthie sucked it up and rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. “Born by chance, bound by choice. It’s the way of it.” That sigh was their mother’s as well.

“Go get Kaylene for me, baby,” Rose said. “I hear her waking.”

“Okay!” Just like that, sorrows forgotten, Ruthie was gone with the flash of a smile and the thunder of bare feet. She was no end of proud about being allowed to take charge of Rose’s first, who was turning two.

Babies were a good cure for sadness, Mama always said. Noah never asked what it meant that she had so many.

“You look like shit,” Rose said matter-of-factly. “Let’s hope Nathan can do something for you, or whoever gets you is going to send you back with a complaint.”

“Shut up or I’ll tell Dad you’re knocked up.” Noah tried to stifle his terror and emptiness and the yawning dark that whispered about it being easier to lie down and not get up instead of facing the world.

“Oh, I’m already a ruined woman. It’s only a shock once.” Rose came over and kissed his cheek. “It’s good that Nathan came to help you get ready. You need to go.”

“What?” That felt like betrayal, that she hadn’t told him he was ready to leave. He couldn’t see it from inside his unhappiness.

“Oh, Noah.” Rose stopped in the doorway and laughed at him. “You’re burning the carpet. Try not to do that in your new house.”

Fire was dripping from his fingers, and Noah swore as he stamped out the smoldering carpet and shook off the flames. The old bracelet he wore—the barre salvetet—was supposed to stop the magic leaking out, but nothing was quite enough.

Noah didn’t blame his father for sending him away; Abram couldn’t have his oldest son cluttering up the house. It wasn’t seemly. People might think Abram was hoarding his children, what with Rose still living here. Besides, all the common wisdom said Rose was right. He needed to go, if he was going to keep living. Here, he had too much time to hate himself, and too many reminders of all the reasons he should—

no one could heal with the wounds pulled open every morning.

Lindsay’s heart pounded, and adrenaline surged through his veins. The few seconds he took to glance behind him were wasted; he couldn’t see past the mass of people moving in and out of the casinos.

Line of sight didn’t matter to the hunter on Lindsay’s heels. He was coming, whether Lindsay could see him or not. Lindsay couldn’t wait anymore, trying to catch a glimpse of him.

He turned and ran, losing himself in the crowd. The boardwalk was packed, a midday rush of bodies seeking sustenance away from the blackjack tables and the slot machines, and once his magic settled into place, he fit right in. Panicking was the worst thing he could do. Predators could sense fear. He wasn’t prey anymore.

He slipped past a rickshaw and into the Taj Mahal, through the entrance lit with bright red neon even during the day. The inside was as crammed with tourists as the street out front. Lindsay wound his way through, between slots and poker and men saying, “Hit me,” like they knew what they were doing. The sea of anonymity gave him a moment to catch his breath and figure out where to go next.

There was no way to tell time in here, and Lindsay didn’t wear a watch, but he knew he’d stayed too long when the urgency of Dane’s hunting instincts began creeping into his mind. Even the thick scents of smoke, cologne and perfume wouldn’t mask him much longer. Out on the boardwalk, the wind would sweep his smell away into the mélange of salt water and seaweed and popcorn and hotdogs and sweat.

He took the stairs by twos, dodging women in stiletto heels and tight dresses and men with comb-overs and potbellies. He couldn’t risk getting caught in the elevators. Dane was close, and if Lindsay didn’t make it to Steel Pier first, he’d be back at square one. Again.

He’d been practicing using magic to hide himself for months now and, every time, Dane had been able to find him. This time, he’d done more than change his appearance, though. He’d altered his scent, and he’d been careful not to speak to keep from giving himself away that way either. Now, he had to make it to

the carousel before Dane found him. There was no time to enjoy the view from the skywalk. He raced across as fast as his legs and lungs would allow. Dane wasn’t far behind.

It had taken Lindsay weeks to master the skill of running full tilt through a world that couldn’t see him coming. Vaulting over a toddler, Lindsay hitched himself up on the rail of the stairs and slid down, catching himself at the bottom just before he fell. If nothing else, all this practice had made him an excellent sprinter—he was hardly even winded.

From the base of the stairs, he could see straight out onto Steel Pier, where the white horses of the double-decker carousel stood ready to carry their next riders. Almost there. Lindsay kept going, letting the momentum of the trip down the stairs carry him. It felt like his feet hardly touched the ground when he ran.

Arms, legs and hair flying, he came to a complete stop as an arm as strong as a steel bar wrapped around his waist and took him off his feet.

“Almost, little bunny,” Dane rumbled in his ear. “But not quite.” Dane bit his ear and growled. “Tasty bunny.”

Fueled by adrenaline, Lindsay struggled at first, heart pounding and elbows flying. That voice, though... That voice got him every time, and the bite left him shivering with more than thwarted energy.

“Would’ve made it if that kid hadn’t been in the way,” he said, throwing up a token protest. He hadn’t made it, and that was what mattered. Dane must have cut around and hidden in a shadowed alcove under the stairs. “Next time.”

Dane purred and licked the hollow under his ear. “Maybe.” His voice had a raw, predatory edge to it.

“Even when you don’t smell like you, you do.” He pulled Lindsay out of the way of oblivious tourists passing around them, into the alcove, and trapped Lindsay against him with both arms. “Good.”

He snuffled in Lindsay’s hair with another growl. There was no telling when he’d be done making sure Lindsay was all his all over again. Sometimes it was brief, a kiss and a snuggle. Other times, Lindsay ended up more than a little disheveled and—if the circumstances were right—quite a bit ravished. Putting Dane in hunting mode had its benefits.

Lindsay wriggled in Dane’s arms, turning to face him. He wanted real kisses, a reward for making it as far as he had. Farther than he’d ever gotten before. Dane’s teeth were sharp against his lips, but that only made the kisses more intense.

Dane’s next growl was louder and deeper, a rumble that went right through Lindsay. He spun them both around, pushing Lindsay up against the wall, one hand in his hair, the other working up under his shirt.

Dane’s teeth were sharp and slick on Lindsay’s throat as he kissed his way down. He never asked Lindsay to hide them, or asked if they were hidden. It was up to Lindsay to maintain decorum. The ability to become less feral hadn’t changed Dane at all.

No one could hear them, but Lindsay swallowed down his moan anyway, and tangled his fingers in Dane’s hair, dragging him back up for a kiss on the mouth. As much as he would’ve liked to win their game, losing had its own rewards.

Something popped in Lindsay’s ear, and a puff of air blew their hair in all directions. “Training?” The voice on the wind was arch and as chilly as the wisp of breeze that tickled past Lindsay’s cheek. Cyrus. The wind could find him from time to time, if Lindsay weren’t careful. He wasn’t sure how—Cyrus couldn’t, from what he could tell. Just the wind.

He slumped against the wall and fought down the annoyance that bubbled up inside him. “I failed.

Again.”

“Are you sure you’re trying to succeed?” the wind wondered. “No matter. We will find out how successful you are when it is not you alone who fails. Come now.”

For all the years that Noah could remember, up until the day he’d married Elle, he’d prayed, wished, hoped, and done anything he could think of to get one thing. Magic. It ran like water in his family. It ran like water from some artesian well that went so far back into the past that the magic would never run out.

But he’d been born dry. Drier than the dead.

Now, he was drowning, drenched in magic, leaking tears and flames at random. He was out of his depth here in a new country, in a house that had never known magic until the last few months.

Behind him, the old man and the woman were talking. Cyrus and Vivian. He’d known who they were long before he was sent to this listing house in the salt marshes. His family knew everyone of consequence, by reputation. By the nature of their magic.

Cyrus can handle him. Cyrus follows the old ways.

They’d sent him down and across the border to Cyrus, with his wounds still raw and his magic still wild.

It made sense. Noah’s mother and brother couldn’t fully heal him, so there was no reason to keep him close. Cyrus had need of another mage in the house, and was willing to take Noah when even his blood relatives were waiting for him to take everything up in flames. He should count himself lucky he wasn’t somewhere in the Amazon right now. Noah knew his father’s pride and how much it cost Abram Quinn to go begging for someone to take his first-born in.

Cyrus and the woman were talking about him, and he didn’t care to listen. Listening would make him angry. Anger would make him burn, would feed his gnawing fire and put everyone at risk. Feeling anything would, he thought. It was better not to take his chances here, without Rose to slip in between his thoughts and carry away the worst of them.

Noah watched the wind in the gray salt grass and the birds in the gray salt sky, and felt nothing as much as he could. It was hard, knowing they were deciding what to do with him like he was a stray dog. He really needed a drink. Another drink to make him care even less.

Abram didn’t allow drink in the house, but Noah had started as soon as his father and brother had left him at the airport. It had worked when he’d left the first time—before Elle had picked him up and made something of him—and it worked now. Not quite as well, but nothing worked like it should anymore, so Noah couldn’t complain.

Part of him wondered if he was really here to learn, when it would be safer for anyone and everyone to have him put down. Cyrus could do it, and quickly. Without his reasons for living—his mother and his siblings—there in front of him every day, the thought that someone ought to finish him off loomed large in his mind.

Noah wouldn’t be the first mage to meet that end, by someone’s swift and painless hand. Not even the first in his family. He’d wished for it without fail, up until some morning when he began to falter in that resolve. Weak.

He clenched his fist to feel the pain in the half-healed wound there. He could do this. If he redeemed himself a little, he could go home someday when Cyrus could spare him and see his mother and his sisters.

At least, after the baby, Rose might come.

The door creaked open and two sets of footsteps followed, one lighter than the other.

Noah turned to look enough to decide whether or not he should be worried. The first one through the door was a wisp of long hair and wide eyes, almost obliterated by the massive presence of the feral coming behind. Dane. Noah had known he would be here. He wondered what the big creature would think of him.

He didn’t know what he thought of being in the house of mages his father considered to be stronger—or at least more resilient—than the Quinns.

“My apologies for interrupting your...training.” Cyrus didn’t sound sorry, nor did it sound like training had been happening. So, that was how it was. Noah turned back to the window.

“You know we were finished.” The voice was too light to be Dane.

The creak of a suffering chair and a leonine grumble was definitely the feral. Over the years, a number of ferals had made themselves known to the Quinns. Rose had a way with them, even before she came into her magic, and some had trusted Noah’s mother to heal them. Noah knew better than to think that human form meant human ways.

“I can never quite tell,” Cyrus said sharply. “It seems I forget there are more things to do than to keep all of us safe. But someone has to remember.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Vivian said. She sounded on the verge of laughing. She made Noah’s skin crawl, with her bright voice and her mild temper. “Neither has Dane. We just have a different perspective.”

“Something that is the bane of my existence. If either of you had my vantage point, you wouldn’t take things so lightly. There is work to be done. Sooner than later. And apparently I must maintain the niceties all the while.” Cyrus meant him, Noah knew. Taking him in. “I have no time for it. Neither does Vivian.”

“Neither do I. I sure as hell don’t want another one,” Dane rumbled. “I told you not to give me the one I have.”

“Don’t remind me.” Cyrus’s voice was icy. “I regret daily my failure to take your desires into consideration. All of them.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the little one put in, sounding more amused than offended, “I think your decision worked out rather well.” The voice was definitely male, but young and full of sharp edges.

Noah should have known he wouldn’t be left to learn from the old mage. It was better that he didn’t.

An accident on his part could wipe out the knowledge and work of generations. He leaned his forehead against the glass and closed his eyes. Maybe they would send him somewhere else, since they couldn’t keep him. He didn’t want to be kept or bartered or passed around, but there were rules even he couldn’t deny. It was his own fault he was alive.

“Don’t make me regret this decision as well, Lindsay,” Cyrus snapped. “It’s a good thing you have developed some backbone. I need Dane, which will leave you with time on your hands. Therefore, this one is yours. I would tell you to keep your hands to yourself, but you’ll do what you want, what with how you’ve been spoiled. Noah.”

This one is yours. When Noah was twelve, this had been all he’d wanted, though in his family—

among his people—it was something done with ceremony and celebration. Here, in Cyrus’s domain, it had devolved to this. This one is yours. Noah made himself move, so he wouldn’t seem rude.

“Lindsay will show you to your room.” Cyrus pointed at the pale young man leaning on the doorframe. “The rest of us have larger matters to discuss.”

“Me?” Lindsay looked from Cyrus to Noah and back again. For a moment, Noah was sure he was going to refuse. “But I—” Something stopped him. He closed his mouth, shook his head and held a hand out to Noah. “Let’s see if we can find somewhere you’ll be comfortable.”

Noah looked at the hand—it was slim and soft and white. He couldn’t take it. It was impossibly familiar. The disconnect between his memory and reality nauseated him. He shouldered his duffel bag and headed for the door.

His manners and his family pride made him stop before he crossed the threshold. He turned and gave Cyrus a little bow, the kind his father would have expected.

“For a place in your home, my future is yours.” The words felt like they were being drawn out of him, from his guts and his spine. If you didn’t mean them, or if you didn’t have magic, he wondered, did they feel the same?

“I will keep your fate with mine, for the days you remain with my people,” Cyrus replied, his expression softening slightly.

Noah looked again at the man—barely more than a boy—to whom he’d been given. Lindsay. Lindsay appeared baffled by the exchange.

“Wherever you want me, I’ll stay.” Noah waited for him to lead on.

Dane listened to their footsteps fade before he let himself look at Cyrus. When he heard them reach the next floor, he turned on Cyrus with a hiss like a hot kettle.

“Are you insane?” Before he knew it, he was across the room, hands planted in the papers on Cyrus’s desk, his face inches from the old man’s.

“It’s been debated,” Cyrus said calmly. He tugged at the edge of a document trapped under Dane’s hand. “You’re impossible to please, you know. At least for an old man like myself. I thought you wanted to help me, not babysit.”

True. It drove Dane around the twist when he was sent off on one errand or another, leaving Cyrus vulnerable. Worse, the old mage had taken to going here and there alone, with no one but Vivian’s girl, Kristan, to look after him. That Cyrus wanted more of his time should have been a relief.

“You know the answer to that.” Dane pushed away from the desk, sending the papers floating like startled birds. He turned his back on Cyrus and went to look out the window where Noah had been sitting.

The air there was heavy with the smell of blood and burning and pain.

“While I don’t agree with Dane’s phrasing,” Vivian said quietly, “giving someone like Noah to Lindsay is...well, it’s a difficult task to take someone on under the best of circumstances.” Her high heels clicked on the floor as she went to gather the papers Dane had scattered.

“Abram Quinn assures me that the boy isn’t a danger to those around him.” Dane didn’t have to be looking to know the dismissive gesture of Cyrus’s hand. He could hear it cut the air and see it in his mind’s eye. “He carries an artifact from their family to ensure that he won’t get out of control. There is a method to what you call my madness. I’m weary of having to prove it again and again.”

“The kid is a Molotov cocktail,” Dane growled. He’d smelled it the minute he walked in the house, the barely stifled fire of a pyromancer. The artifact that kept Noah’s magic in check—Dane hated relying on artifacts and Lindsay would find it unbearable. Dane knew he was being overprotective. The thing wasn’t going to jump off Noah’s wrist and savage anyone. This was as good a time as any for him to let the habit go.

Dane took a slow breath and let the animal in him slink away to seethe. The human part of him rose to the surface and imposed logic on his churning anger. You’re mostly angry that Cyrus admits to needing you at all, Dane’s rational mind pointed out. One of these days, you’re going to have to stop getting pissed off at everything that makes you feel something you don’t want to feel.

“Noah came late to his magic by a great loss,” Cyrus conceded. “It will make his path difficult. But we can use him.”