I don’t know that I believe that, not after Harold MacVeigh has been keeping Cate prisoner here, but I don’t want to steal this last bit of hope from her. I slide my arm around her lower back, pulling her closer into my embrace. “Cate, do you know where MacVeigh is right now?”
She nods, her teeth once again digging into her plush lower lip.
“Will you tell me?”
Her lips purse, but she nods again.
A sigh of relief trickles out of me. I tug her down onto my lap, burying my face in her neck.
“There’s more,” she whispers.
I put just enough space between us so I can see her eyes.
“Andra had a vision.” She sucks in a long breath, the internal struggle written all over her face. It’s a stark difference from the Cate who so easily hid her emotions when we first met, who masked every one of her feelings.
“What kind of vision, Cate?” I stroke my hand over her bare back, hoping the motion soothes the torment she is so clearly experiencing.
“It’s not much, and it didn’t make any sense to me at the time, but now I think I know what it means.”
I try to tamp down the excitement I can feel rising in my chest. If Andra had a vision, that means there’s a way we can actually do this. Not long ago I never would have trusted the word of a Gifted, let alone a so-called vision from one, but here I am about to put my faith in not one Gifted, but two.
“What kind of vision, Cate?” I repeat.
She looks at me, her whisky eyes wide. “Trees.”
Just when I think there’s nothing Diana could throw at me that would surprise me at this point, today she arrived at the club with the biggest shock of my life.
For eight years now, I’ve forced myself not to think of my daughters. Diana assured me they would be safe, well provided for. She told me that taking them away from Grecia was the only way to ensure their survival.
The two little girls who stepped into the club today didn’t look well provided for, and they certainly were not safe before Diana found them.
They are perfect little combinations of us, my golden hair and Grecia’s amber eyes. Even though life hasn’t been easy for them the past couple of years, they are strong, and smart. Cate is stubborn as all hell, Andra as sweet as pie.
I have loved them from the moment I knew they existed. Never once did I think they would come to live with me, and I wouldn’t be able to acknowledge them as my own.
But that doesn’t matter. I will show them love and care, even if I must live without the title of Father.
I asked Diana about my third daughter, but she waved away my questions and told me to focus on the daughters who are here in my life, and not worry about the one who isn’t.
Seeing them, I can’t help but think about what our life could have been like, what kind of mother Grecia might have been. What I do know now is that she must never know our daughters are here, with me. Especially given what Andra is capable of, and what Diana has Seen.
—excerpt from the journal of Harold MacVeigh
23
Cate
We dress insilence. The air in the room is heavy with tension and wanting and things still left unsaid. Callum stills my hands before I can slip into my dress. He kneels before me, wrapping a sheath around my upper thigh, replacing the dagger I haven’t worn in days with a new one. His fingers linger, tracing along the sensitive skin. He places a single kiss on my inner thigh before helping me step into the long cotton dress. I haven’t laced myself into a corset or donned a feathered headpiece in several days. So much of my long-worn costume has slipped away since meeting Callum Reid. If there was any doubt truly left before, it is gone now. We are Bonded, linked, our lives forever intertwined. But I still want him to have a choice, if such a thing is even possible.
“I need to say something before we leave.” I don’t look at him as I practically whisper the words, afraid that I will lose all of my nerve if I feel the force of his blue eyes on me.
Callum, his back to me as he buttons his shirt, noticeablystiffens, his shoulders tensing. He takes a second before he turns around. “I don’t blame you, Caterine.”
My speech, my declaration, sits ready on the tip of my tongue, but his unexpected response confuses me. “What?” is all I can manage to utter.
He crosses the room, slowly, narrowing the gap between us. “I don’t blame you if you’ve changed your mind about what you said. Before.” He gestures helplessly to the bed.
“What did I say?”
