Page 43 of Wine & Warlocks

She shook her head and used the back of her hand to wipe her eyes.

The sight of her distress caused Ronan’s stomach to knot, and he sent Damian a questioning look.

The Aether appeared as confused as Ronan felt.

Gathering his courage, he approached her, dropped to one knee, and tilted her chin up. “Whatever you’re worried about, it can’t be so bad, yeah?”

She brushed the tip of her bedazzled pink running shoe back and forth across the carpet, disrupting the direction of the pile with each sweep of her foot.

“You can talk to me, wee wild beastie. I’ll not get upset, and I’ll still be your friend.”

Lifting her head, she stared at him. “I’m not allowed to tell. Papa says.”

Ronan glanced up to see Damian’s quicksilver frown.

“I brought you here to reveal what you know, my love. It’s okay to tell Ronan whatever it is.”

“No!” Sabrina jerked her hand from her father’s. “You told me it’s bad to tell.”

The shock on the Aether’s face was priceless, and Ronan intended to bust his bollocks at a later date—when the situation wasn’t so fecking dire.

With remarkable speed, Damian recovered. Kneeling in front of her, he unfolded her crossed arms and held her hands within his. The picture of a comforting father. “You’re correct, Beastie. In the past, I’ve told you to refrain from blurting out things that might alter another’s future timeline. However, I’m asking you now to please reveal what you know.”

“No!”

One second she was there, and the next, she was gone. Only the fading pink light was any indication she’d been present at all.

“What the hell was that all about?” Castor asked from behind them.

Ronan and Damian rose as one.

“She’s troubled by what she’s seen,” Alastair said, joining their small group. “It doesn’t take an empath to sense her turmoil.”

And Ronan couldn’t help but feel that turmoil was directly related to him. “What do we do now?”

“We seek her out and try again,” Damian replied grimly. “It’s obvious she’s had a vision and is bothered by what she knows.”

“I don’t want to traumatize the girl.”

“She’s the Oracle, and with that title comes a responsibility to the witch community. Sabrina cannot throw a temper tantrum whenever it suits her to do so. If called upon, she needs to understand what is required of her.”

Alastair shook his head. “She’s a child, Dethridge. You can’t expect her to be fine with everything she sees. Especially if it has to do with someone she cares about.”

“I know exactly how difficult it is, Thorne,” Damian stated coldly. So coldly, in fact, that the air contracted with his anger and a thin layer of frost covered the window panes. “Have you forgotten I was made the Aether at only eight years old? Did the deities showmemercy when I was called upon to do my duty? The removal of another’s magic is excruciating for them and not a joy to be a part of.”

“He didn’t mean anything by it, Damian,” Castor said, attempting to placate him. “And we get that you’re worried about her. But you need to pull back your anger before you encase the house in ice.”

As if the central heating had kicked on, a warm breeze flooded the room, removing the last traces of the bitter cold. “My apologies, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me, I need to find my daughter.”

“We’ll help you look,” Ronan offered.

After a sharp nod, Damian strode from the room.

“I’ll take the kitchens,” Alastair said.

“All you ever think about is your bottomless pit of a stomach, Al,” Castor complained.

Alastair grinned. “You’re just irritated you didn’t think to call it first.”

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