Bran wraps his hand around my upper arm and swings me around to stop me from chasing after them.

“Let them be,” he tells me.

“But where—”

He gives me a look.

“What? What is it?”

“Listen to me.”

“I am.”

“Let. Them. Be.”

It finally dawns on me.

“Oh. Ohhhh.”

“Yes.”

I sigh and scrub at my face. “I’m just worried about her.”

“I know you are.” Bran pulls me into him and wraps me into a hug. “I think she’ll be fine.”

“So why were you talking in Greek? What were you trying to hide?”

I try to pull away so I can look him in the face, but his embrace is tight. “Bran.” I grumble against his chest.

I don’t need a magical linking spell to tell me what Bran is thinking and feeling. “You’re pretending everything is fine, but you’re worried about Damien.”

He finally lets me go and heads to our bedroom.

“Talk to me.”

In the room, he goes to the bathroom and flicks on the light. Under-cabinet lighting glows against the stone floor. He turns on the tap and splashes cold water on his face.

“Bran.”

“If you must know, he was telling me that should something happen to him, I would find the necessary paperwork for the estate in his safe. And I was telling him that nothing would happen to him and if it did, I’d kill him twice.”

He hunches over the vanity and inhales deeply, water dripping from his nose.

“You love him a lot, don’t you?” It’s not really a question.

“He’s all I have left, Mouse.”

I go to him, placing my hand on his back. “This is all my fault.”

“No.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t you dare say that.”

“But it is.”

“Mouse.”

“If it wasn’t for me—”

He straightens. “This is Julian’s fault and the Renshaw witches, should they side with him. Not yours. Don’t even think that.”