“Have you?” His voice sounded brittle but firm.
A cool smile touched the female’s lips before she moved away. The male approached him, and Max caught sight of the silver blade between his fingers. Just out of reach, the male stopped and gestured to the female. The last time he’d gotten too close, Max had almost taken his soul. He would have succeeded if the female hadn’t amped up her mental attacks, forcing him to protect his memories and release his hold on the other’s soul.
He prepared himself for an attack from the female, barely wincing when it came, and tried to concentrate on what the male would do. In his weakened state, the male’s power was an overload, and before he could divest enough of his attention to the male, the blade was slicing into him.
Max screamed, his eyes tearing as the silver burned into his neck. He couldn’t last much longer against these two, and if he couldn’t hold them off, he would be completely overpowered by his father.
When they finally left, Max slumped forward. Blood trickled from his new wounds, running down his body in thin, gothic curtains. He made a decision. It was unlikely he would last through another session and he couldn’t betray his friends to his father. If Maximilian could do this to him, it was unimaginable what he would do to Vivienne.
Calling upon the last of his strength, which was not much, he pulled his memories forward. Drew smiled up at him, large brown eyes beckoning him forth. Instead of indulging in their usual childish barbs, he should have told her how he felt, what she meant to him. His biggest regret. Vivienne waved to him. Five years worth of memories surfaced in his mind, and the weight of them was enough to give him a headache.
His lips moved, chanting a spell he’d never used, one most witches refused to learn. Blood beaded his brow and torso as the chanting grew louder. Through it all, Max heard shouting. His voice crested, and light exploded before his eyes.
Max collapsed against the wall, his warlock retreating as his human slumped forward, dead.
***
“I was beginning to wonder when you were going to show up again.”
Cassie hadn’t seen Alexander in days, and had begun to wonder if he’d been a part of her druid. The part that was trying to get her to realize what she was, perhaps.
An easy smile touched his lips but he did not speak. Alexander stood at that water’s edge with his hands clasped behind his back. As usual, he was shirtless, and the wind was blowing his hair back from his face. He wore knee-length cargo pants, revealing muscular legs and perfect feet. If a photographer were around, pictures would be taken.
Cassie took a step forward, and stopped.
“So, let’s say for argument’s sake, that this isn’t a dream,” she began slowly, noticing that his lips curved even more. Of course it wasn’t a dream. If it was, then she’d dreamed her mother had told her that she was a druid, that her similarly druid sister had mated a wolf and had gone to his estate, that she was now staying with her mother at a safe-house, that a psycho witch leader was trying to capture both her and Vivienne….
“Just for argument’s sake. Exactly who and what are you?”
Alexander turned his head to the side to get a better view of her. She felt slightly pleased when his eyes ran down her form more slowly than usual, taking in the V-neck white sleeveless tee, and the little black shorts she’d slipped on for the past days in hopes of returning to his dreamlike paradise. It wasn’t because she wanted him to see her in these clothes—of course not—it was just…warm.
When he next lifted his gaze to hers it was to ask, “You’ve been made aware of your heritage?”
Cassie nodded, blushing a little. Funny that he should know before her. “Yep. Big shocker. This whole druid thing takes a bit of getting used to.”
Another small smile appeared, and he returned his gaze to the water. It was more turbulent than she’d ever seen it despite the sunny day. “I would imagine.”
“So, who are you again?” Cassie prompted.
He shrugged his shoulders in a casual manner. “I am Alexander.”
“Nooo, I thought you were Fabio.” Her sarcasm went over his head because his brows furrowed, his face grew serious, and he asked in the coldest tone she’d ever heard him use, “Who is this Fabio you keep mentioning? Is he your male?”
This time, Cassie’s brows furrowed. My male? What era was this guy from anyway?
“No, he’s not my ‘male.’ He’s a romance cover model. Long, blond hair, huge arms, wears no shirt—it doesn’t matter.” She shook her head to emphasize how little it mattered. “So, what are you? Are you some type of dream creature? ’Cause if you tell me you are, I’ll believe you.” She’d believe just about anything at the moment.