I have to stop this, stop her.
Power Blocker. I need a Power Blocker. She isn’t magically bound to our tetrad, but she is pack, and I hope that’s enough to allow this magic to work.
It has to work. We have to block her access.
“Where are you doing?” Pax calls out.
“It’s our power, that’s the only thing that makes sense. The more she accesses our powers, the more she drains the magic sustaining the bubble. I’m making a Power Blocker.”
She starts arguing immediately, her voice reaching high octaves in protest against another potion. Another cage. I don’t listen to her words, just her tone, and fear wraps around my soul – what if she uses Allure before I can stop her?
I snap my fist around time, Alluring it into complete stillness, snatch up the mortar and pestle, a jar of fireflies, and another of rare winged spiders,
She’s supposed to be mine for eternity, or as long as her mortal soul will allow. Not days.
I can’t let it be days.
I Allure time as far and for as long as time will allow, over and over, and Kitten is still standing at the bottom of the stairs arguing with Pax when I jog back down.
“This isn’t happening, Pax, and Thane, you can stop growling because you’re not helping. You’re not trapping me with another potion. You can’t do it. I can’t handle another shackle. I know they’re your powers, I simply won’t use your powers – easy,” she says, standing at the bottom of the stairs.
“You can’t promise me that,” Pax says.
“I can now that I know the cost. Don’t take this away from me.”
My heart breaks, and I let the pieces shatter and fall, not slowing my actions in the least. Because I have to do this.
“Catch her,” I say, tossing the contents of the mortar down her back.
It sizzles through her shirt, leaving steam rising in its wake. She doesn’t even get a chance to turn and look me in the eyes before her legs give out.
“Sorry, Beautiful,” Thane whispers as Pax cradles her.
He offers me a neutral look and one stern nod.
“I’ll make more,” I say, turning and taking the stairs two at a time.
Trying not to acknowledge the itch I have to be the one lifting her up and carrying her to the couch. To hold her. To apologize for being part of the reason her bubble is shrinking and not realizing it.
I need her.
Except this is more important right now, and I leave the broken pieces of me right where they fell. I’ve got no time for emotions.
Realizing something, I freeze on the fourth step. “We just closed ourselves off to her – but she’s still wide open to us unless we use the same potions on ourselves,” I say.
“No,” Pax rumbles.
“Then we’ll still be drawing from her soul. Maybe even harder and faster than before. We just took away all of her defenses,” I say.
“Then we be careful, and we get rid of this fucking bubble,” he growls back.
Three Paces
“Catch her,” Roarke says, suddenly behind me.
Time slows…
Hot liquid hits my back… searing and burning… and slashing sharper than a sword.
“Sorry, Beautiful,” Thane whispers.
I gasp – then fall. Everything goes dark somewhere in midair.
I don’t even remember hitting the ground, but the first sensation that returns is that of something soft underneath me, which means I’ve been out cold long enough to be moved. After that little observation comes a memory that strikes with a hard thud to the chest – Roarke threw a potion on me without my permission.
“What the chuck!” I demand, sitting up sharply.
Pax is pacing up and down beside the couch. Three steps left, then three right. He stops and looks down at me as I scramble to my feet, stand on the couch, and poke my finger at his nose.
I feel weak, world-spinning weak.
And hollow, not-sure-if-I’m-even-alive hollow.
And why is everything chuckin’ fuzzy?
The sun is still climbing over the trees, the light the same shade coming in through the window, so I must have only been out for a few minutes, not my usual hours. My stomach growls, demanding breakfast – but my stomach can wait.
“What did you do?” I demand, feeling my syllables bite over my tongue in tones that I’ve never spoken before, hot with anger and not the least bit shy about it.
His eyes flash, gold and glowing and accepting the challenge.
“Anything we have to do to protect you,” Thane snaps.
“This is not protecting me –” but that’s all the words I manage to force out before a weird spin and shift of gravity drags me sideways.
He jumps the couch just in time to wrap his arms around me and cradle us down.
“Roarke,” Pax shouts.
There’s thundering from all directions, then three heads pop over the sides and back of the couch. Seth at the top. Killian near my feet. Roarke near my shoulder.
And I can’t feel any of them.
Not one.
No sense of protection or wisdom or confidence. No gentle, comforting Darkness. No teasing Chaos. None of Pax’s vanilla or Seth’s mischievous copper or Roarke’s jasmine. None of the velvety warm tickle of amber when Thane speaks. No orange-cherry scent as Seth leans forward and strokes my hair.
I close my eyes and battle back the welling tears.
They’re gone. All gone.
“What,” I manage, mustering the remnants of anger in my chest. The little bit that’s left. It’s been torn up by grief and loss, and I don’t want them to see what I’m actually feeling. “Did you do to me?”
“We had to do
