Page 14 of Of Flame and Fury
His head jerks in my direction, his gaze shifting from side to side. He doesn’t see me, but he does feel. “Yes, I’m here.Pleasesave my sister.”
Misha frowns and abandons Ileana. He snakes his way toward Celia, the other masters giving him ample space. Being as badass as he is, my presence has affected him, except whatever he feels doesn’t stand a chance when someone more potent appears.
Aric enters the foyer with Genevieve beside him. Thewereelite he arrived with flank them. The deadly energy Aric omits obliterates mine and halts Misha in place before he reaches Celia.
“Misha,Misha,” I plead. “You have to get to Celia. Do you hear me? Something is coming for her and her baby.”
Misha glances in my direction yet stays in place, cagy of Aric’s approach. He hadn’t counted that Aric would become this powerful, and neither did anyone else. I respect Aric’s game plan and what it took for him to suppress this new side of him, but damn if it’s not scary as hell.
The cluster of supernaturals part as Aric draws closer to Celia; they sense the predator within him bare his fangs and fear a lethal bite. I shimmy and squirm, hoping the potentweremagic pumping through him squashes the spell holding me in place.
It doesn’t give and tightens further. Tears burn my eyes. I’m out of time.
Chapter Five
Aric stalks toward Celia, his rough and scary exterior dissolving when she smiles at his approach. I don’t catch him close the space remaining between him; the movement is too fast. As if no one else exists, he gathers her to him, clutching her hips and bending practically in half to kiss her. He smirks at the sight of her blush, slipping an arm around her waist and leading her forward.
The yellow stone on Genevieve’s talisman sparkles, the magic within it magnifies her power, amplifying the sound of her voice. “Good evening. May I be the first to greet the Most Precious Mate and Mother to Our Cherished Savior.” Genevieve purses her lips to halt her grin when Celia stops smiling. Yeah, Celia likes that title as much as you might think. “Welcome, dear Celia Wird Connor, to Le Grand Chateau de Montagne.”
The audience explodes with applause, some genuine, most not, both deepening Celia’s blush. “Thank you, Genevieve,” Celia replies as the clapping ceases. “It’s nice to see you.”
Celia doesn’t bother raising her voice, or with formalities for that matter. She’s not trying to be rude or offend Genevieve, she just hates all the attention and the reasons behind it.
Genevieve doesn’t appear bothered. She’s respected and admired Celia since their first encounter. Me, not so much. If it wasn’t for my tight bond with Celia and the history between Vieve and me, they would be best of friends, I have no doubt.
Aric, sensing Celia’s growing discomfort, tucks her against him. “Celia, I’d like you to meet two old friends of my father’s. Lando and Braeden.”
“Aric!” I yell, losing my ever-loving mind.
Aric’s head shoots up.
“Old being the operative word,” Lando says, chuckling.
His voice lures Aric’s attention away from me. God damn it, no. I scream his name again, my distressed cries competing with Tye’s roars.
“This is Celia,” Aric says slowly. “My mate and wife.”
“Ah, Aric,” Braeden says. “Congratulations. There is nothing more beautiful than a pregnant mate.”
Jesus, you could fry bacon on Celia’s reddening face.
The crowd chuckles at her reaction, except for Misha and the she-vamps dressed in naughty Catholic schoolgirl uniforms who rush to his side. Worry etches their stunning features as they glance between their master and Celia.
Aric, he isn’t smiling either. He clutches Celia protectively, his guarded features scanning up the curved staircase and stopping on me. He can sense me, and holy Moses, so can Misha. Like a cobra coiling to strike, his narrowing gaze locks on me.
“They’re coming for Celia!” I holler.
Tears glide onto my cheeks with how hard I yell. They still can’t hear me. I try again, my words cutting off when dread rakes my spine in one painful strike.
I almost snap my neck with how hard I whip it in the direction of the kitchen. The Lesser witch, the server with the dreads, waits beneath the arch.
In a blink, he vanishes from sight. But…he’s still here.
I can’t see him, only sense him, looping through the dense crowd as the guests are directed toward the ballroom and away from Celia.
My power builds. Sparky trembles out of control. I don’t have the best aim. Not when most of my arm is glued to the floor, and my fingers are barely moveable.
Whatever is gaining ground toward Celia has no care for her life or that of her baby. It has a job to do.