even in mourning—black slacks, black silk. Pearls. Her silver hair styled away from her face, highlighting her high cheekbones. The look of censure was gone from her eyes though. Progress.
Blue streaked past the window, which had to be Mason, winding around the driveway to park.
“I don’t like him. What he did to poor Livia Walker.” Scarlet put a hand to her mouth and shook her head, as if the scandal were happening right now.
Or maybe not progress. Mason was just juicier gossip.
Cari felt a tired smile coming on. At least her stepmother was distracted from both her grief and the upset of losing Erom Vauclain. The story of Livia Walker made a very effective cautionary tale about what happened when a mage girl forgot her House.
Once upon a time, it could’ve been Cari. Easily. Burned a little, remembering. The Mysterious Mason Stray, so tempting, so dangerous.
But Cari refused to think about what had almost happened at Walden Pond. It was ancient history, anyway.
Shortly thereafter word had gotten out that Liv was pregnant, probably from fooling around with him before they’d broken up. As Mason was stray, he couldn’t marry Liv, a House-born mage woman. So he’d convinced her to run away with him, to have the baby—a baby that because of Mason would be accepted nowhere, just like him. And as the child constituted Liv’s firstborn, no other mage would marry her and risk the bastard child making succession or inheritance claims.
Two lives ruined: Stupid Liv, who’d soon grown tired of living on nothing and had returned alone, to be outcast in her own House, and the child, wherever the poor, unwanted thing was. All because Mason Stray liked to screw dangerously.
“I don’t like him much either.” He was a means to an end, that’s all. And—shock of the century—he actually had the Council’s respect.
A man-shaped shadow loomed outside the front door.
Scarlet’s voice went raspy. “Please be careful.”
“I will.” The search for the killer would be fast, the resolution final.
Scarlet flicked her gaze toward the door to direct her meaning. “Mason Stray should’ve been neutered. Now, if you were already engaged . . .”
Cari smiled. Kissed Scarlet’s cheek. She was, after all, only trying to be a good mage mama.
“I can take care of myself.”
Scarlet lifted her brows, as if to question the Erom decision again and then retired up the stairs.
Cari turned and opened the door.
Nine years and the man only had gotten more . . . Mason. Older, yes, with fine lines around those haunted eyes, and he hadn’t bothered to shave, so he looked like a bandit from the old West about to rob a train. His hair was a reckless shock of dark brown, begging for scissors. And he was taller than she remembered, his shoulders wider, taking up the doorway. Smelled the same though, Shadow take him.
Poor, stupid Livia.
“Mason,” Cari said, haughty, in defense of her old friend.
“Cari,” he returned, just as hard.
Mason couldn’t shake the excruciating feeling that he was missing a vital part of himself, that he’d left his arm or lungs or heart somewhere, and he didn’t know how to function without that missing piece.
He was surly and restless. He wanted to fight something big and mean with his fists until he was too bloody for consciousness. But he could only grip the doorframe to Dolan House and hope the carved wood didn’t crumble in his hands.
Cari had opened the door, the princess herself.
She’d grown up, or rather, into herself. Her wide, smart eyes used to inspire stunts to impress, but now something in their depths made him wary. Grief, that’s what it was. Her cheekbones were set for classic beauty, with creamy skin that glowed in contrast to glossy dark brown hair, which broke in natural waves on her shoulders. Her black eyes betrayed her Shadowed heritage and she had a full, expressive mouth, which had always said more without words than with. Like now for
Blue streaked past the window, which had to be Mason, winding around the driveway to park.
“I don’t like him. What he did to poor Livia Walker.” Scarlet put a hand to her mouth and shook her head, as if the scandal were happening right now.
Or maybe not progress. Mason was just juicier gossip.
Cari felt a tired smile coming on. At least her stepmother was distracted from both her grief and the upset of losing Erom Vauclain. The story of Livia Walker made a very effective cautionary tale about what happened when a mage girl forgot her House.
Once upon a time, it could’ve been Cari. Easily. Burned a little, remembering. The Mysterious Mason Stray, so tempting, so dangerous.
But Cari refused to think about what had almost happened at Walden Pond. It was ancient history, anyway.
Shortly thereafter word had gotten out that Liv was pregnant, probably from fooling around with him before they’d broken up. As Mason was stray, he couldn’t marry Liv, a House-born mage woman. So he’d convinced her to run away with him, to have the baby—a baby that because of Mason would be accepted nowhere, just like him. And as the child constituted Liv’s firstborn, no other mage would marry her and risk the bastard child making succession or inheritance claims.
Two lives ruined: Stupid Liv, who’d soon grown tired of living on nothing and had returned alone, to be outcast in her own House, and the child, wherever the poor, unwanted thing was. All because Mason Stray liked to screw dangerously.
“I don’t like him much either.” He was a means to an end, that’s all. And—shock of the century—he actually had the Council’s respect.
A man-shaped shadow loomed outside the front door.
Scarlet’s voice went raspy. “Please be careful.”
“I will.” The search for the killer would be fast, the resolution final.
Scarlet flicked her gaze toward the door to direct her meaning. “Mason Stray should’ve been neutered. Now, if you were already engaged . . .”
Cari smiled. Kissed Scarlet’s cheek. She was, after all, only trying to be a good mage mama.
“I can take care of myself.”
Scarlet lifted her brows, as if to question the Erom decision again and then retired up the stairs.
Cari turned and opened the door.
Nine years and the man only had gotten more . . . Mason. Older, yes, with fine lines around those haunted eyes, and he hadn’t bothered to shave, so he looked like a bandit from the old West about to rob a train. His hair was a reckless shock of dark brown, begging for scissors. And he was taller than she remembered, his shoulders wider, taking up the doorway. Smelled the same though, Shadow take him.
Poor, stupid Livia.
“Mason,” Cari said, haughty, in defense of her old friend.
“Cari,” he returned, just as hard.
Mason couldn’t shake the excruciating feeling that he was missing a vital part of himself, that he’d left his arm or lungs or heart somewhere, and he didn’t know how to function without that missing piece.
He was surly and restless. He wanted to fight something big and mean with his fists until he was too bloody for consciousness. But he could only grip the doorframe to Dolan House and hope the carved wood didn’t crumble in his hands.
Cari had opened the door, the princess herself.
She’d grown up, or rather, into herself. Her wide, smart eyes used to inspire stunts to impress, but now something in their depths made him wary. Grief, that’s what it was. Her cheekbones were set for classic beauty, with creamy skin that glowed in contrast to glossy dark brown hair, which broke in natural waves on her shoulders. Her black eyes betrayed her Shadowed heritage and she had a full, expressive mouth, which had always said more without words than with. Like now for
Similar Books
