Page 77 of Destined to the Lycan
Lyall chuckled. “For what it’s worth, we’re just as frustrated to have anything or anyone dictate what we can and cannot do.”
I grunted in agreement before glaring at the flowers still in his hand.
“So how do I destroy these wretched things without causing further harm, since they can’t be burnt?”
He shrugged. “You could feed them to the horse. Like I said, they’re entirely safe until exposed to great heat.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said, relieved it wouldn’t involve some convoluted ritual as I already had my hands beyond full.
“I can take care of it for you if you wish,” Lyall offered, throwing me for a loop.
“That… that would be kind of you,” I said, surprised.
He gave me a stiff nod then walked out of the room quietly. I stared at the open door, listening to the soft shuffle of his feetslowly fading while trying to make sense of that strange male in the surreal situation I had found myself in. Shaking my head, I made sure there was nothing left in the secret cache before using the hidden switches to close it again.
Browsing through the inventory of candles, I quickly found the banishment soy candles the Weaver suggested I used. However, as I turned back to reexamine the room, it became clear that I could never use the workshop as my safe holding cell. Even if I moved the cauldron and drew the magic circle in a wide radius around the fire pit, I still ran too great a risk of trashing the place during my madness or even just trying to get into the circle.
With the three candles tucked under my arm, I exited the workshop and opened the door we had walked past on our way here. As I had hoped, it revealed another staircase leading to the basement. To my dismay, it wasn’t the dark and damp place I expected to walk into, but a properly isolated and illuminated space that had been divided into what could eventually serve as additional guest rooms—although they currently stood empty. One of the rooms was used as food storage and larder.
It was a thick metal door at the back that rekindled a glimmer of hope. It wasn’t locked, although a heavy key hung on a nail by the door. Surprisingly, the door didn’t squeak and whine as I thought it would but quietly opened on its well-oiled hinges. My heart soared when I stepped into what must have been an old cellar. It sat empty with thick brick walls, an elevated arched window with decorative forged iron bars. Cool, not quite damp, it would be perfect for my purpose.
I placed the candles on the floor and raced back to the workshop, which contained everything I needed to set up the wards, including reagents that would enhance its magic. I made a mental note of all that I plundered so that I could replace them once this ordeal was over. Without delay, I returned to the cellarand drew the circle, runes, and the wards that would keep me trapped until I regained control of my mind and senses.
The beauty of this circle was that I could freely enter, whatever state I found myself in. But I couldn’t leave so long as it detected that I was feral or enraged. The challenge was to enter it after the full moon had arisen. Normally, I would enter the circle or my safe location at least a couple of hours before the full moon. The thought of what could happen that night twisted my innards. The only things that gave me hope were the Weaver’s confidence in my ability to pull this off, and having Lyall as a backup.
Although the doppelganger hadn’t promised to take me out if I became a real threat to my mate, I knew at a visceral level that he wouldn’t sit idle while Amara was being slaughtered. After giving one last look at my work, I exited the room, feeling satisfied, and headed back to my Flame’s bedroom.
I found an appropriate position for each of the three candles, snuffed out the fire in the hearth, opened the windows, and stripped Amara out of the thick nightgown she’d been wearing. As it wasn’t the outfit she’d initially worn when Lyall took her from me to fly her home, I tried to silence the instinctive jealousy I felt at the thought he had seen her naked while changing her clothes.
In a way I couldn’t explain, I genuinely believed he wouldn’t have taken advantage, done it in an inappropriate fashion, or acted with questionable motives. Amara and I traveled up the mountain for a few days without access to a body of water to bathe in. Then we slept outside for a few more days while she was drenched in sweat from her extreme fever. Putting her in bed as is would have been worse.
I carried her to the adjoining bathroom and gave her a bath, using colder than lukewarm water. Seeing the full extent to which the venom was spreading broke my heart. How wouldshe survive two more days of this? I carefully dried her body then dressed her in a much lighter nightgown. Hearing her distressed moans as I cared for her tore me apart. Surely there was something I could do to alleviate some of her pain? That she remained unconscious didn’t mean she didn’t feel all of this as indicated by her tense features and the sounds she emitted.
Moments after I brought my mate back to her bed, Lyall’s footsteps resounded loudly in the hallway. I realized he was making sure I was aware of his imminent arrival. Once more, such considerate behavior clashed with the cold and heartless image he initially projected and that was standard for members of his species. As if to further fuel my confusion, he knocked and waited for me to bid him come in before entering.
His eyes didn’t have the same intense red as was the norm for him. They had taken a much paler hue that was edging towards purple.
“Nice work you did downstairs,” he said the minute he walked in.
For some dumb reason, that compliment from him touched a sensitive cord deep within that hungered for some form of paternal approval. It was all the crazier that I considered Lyall as I would any other male within my age range. Then again, as a demigod, chances were he had already lived a few hundred years by now.
“Thank you,” I said, feeling shy. “I want to further reinforce the doors in the morning, just in case my wards don’t hold as well as I hope.”
He nodded before glancing at my mate, the cold hearth, and the open window. Although he didn’t comment or look at me strangely, I felt the irrational need to justify my actions.
“The Weaver recommended I keep her cool as much as possible.”
Once more, he didn’t respond and merely tilted his head to the side as he silently observed me.
I shifted on my feet, looking for my words. “Thank you for everything you’ve done to help me with Amara. We never would have made it without you.”
He clenched his teeth and grunted in response. I couldn’t tell which emotion dominated on his face between sadness, anger, and resignation. They shone through despite his great effort at plastering a neutral expression on his face.
“I just wish—”
My voice trailed off as a thought suddenly struck me. I looked at my woman before staring back at Lyall.
“I would have one more favor to ask of you,” I said in a hopeful voice that piqued his curiosity, although he observed me with a guarded expression. “As you can see, Amara is semi-conscious and in pain. Would it be possible for you to pull her into a happy illusion? The one you trapped me in was so realistic. If you could do something similar, but without her getting chased by something evil, I would be eternally in your debt.”
