I did, and his reminder is a gut punch. She was human. I don’t even recall her name. And don’t I regret that choice now? While trying to avoid Tabitha so she could live a safer life, I’d left her and her family to face Mathias’s murderous wrath alone.
Self-loathing eats my stomach like acid.
I shoot Bram a glare. “I’m going. I don’t care if you come with me or not.”
Forcing myself to tamp down the turbulence roiling inside me and concentrate, I take a deep breath, struggle to center my magic, and teleport to the Lowery estate.
The grand home lies in ruins, a skeleton against the rising sun, charred and ransacked, as if someone has searched it high and low. The devastation is absolute. It guts me. Bodies are strewn on the lawn, eyes still open wide in terror. One by one, I find them. First, her mother’s twisted body near the door. Next, her father face down in ash. Finally, her brothers, Javen first, then Russum. Each corpse another nail in my chest.
But no sign of Tabitha.
Hope—and dread—grip my throat. I can hardly fucking breathe.
I prowl through the charred remains of the house—foyer, sitting room, bedrooms, servants’ quarters. Smoke chokes me. Debris crunches under my boots as I call her name until my throat turns raw. Every wall, floor, and surface still smolders, black and twisted, with the aftereffects of the fire. Every room lies empty.
Ash coats my hands. Fear squeezes my heart. And with every step, my dread burns hotter. My hands shake. Sweat—or is it tears?—burns my eyes. She has to be here. She has to.
But she’s not. Panic balloons until it feels like an elephant sitting on my chest, threatening to crush me.
I can think of only two reasons Tabitha’s body isn’t among the dead. First, she miraculously escaped. Or second, Mathias took her with him. And if that’s the case, the evil bastard will torture my beloved and unborn son unmercifully before ending their lives in a cataclysm of humiliation and pain.
All for the unforgivable “sin” of being mine.
Suddenly, I hear a whoosh and I whirl, heart chugging, wand up and braced for a fight. Hell, I welcome one. Instead, I find Bram.
“She’s not here,” he informs me.
As I can plainly see. But I won’t rest until I find her…one way or the other. Once I have, I’ll let this crushing heartache take me. “When you spoke of the attack, you didn’t mention that.”
“You didn’t let me.”
Semantics. I have no time for them. “I must keep searching. I pray she escaped and sought refuge elsewhere.”
“It’s possible.”
But Bram doesn’t sound convinced. Despite the fact I’m not either, I stifle the urge to rage at him. It might make me feel better. Unfortunately, it won’t do a bloody thing to bring back Tabitha.
With a sigh, Bram claps me on the shoulder. “I know she’s expecting your youngling.”
“Yes,” I choke.
A son I’ll never get to meet or hold, never get to love or guide. Hell, I won’t even have the opportunity to look upon his face before I bury him.
The realization threatens to take me out at the knees.
She wasn’t very far along, three months at most. If any other woman ever conceived by me, I would know exactly when because I never spend more than one night with any of them. I never go back for seconds. I refuse all attachments. For Tabitha, I broke that cardinal rule. Repeatedly. I couldn’t stay away from her, no matter how much her parents hated me, no matter how much better her life would be if I steered clear.
Now I wish I hadn’t been so fucking selfish.
“Understandably, you’re concerned about the youngling,” Bram placates. “Since children are difficult for most witches to conceive, particularly those unmated, I?—”
“Shut up.” Not for anything will I confess my feelings about Tabitha to Bram. Hell, I’ve never felt anything like her hold on my heart, so I barely understand myself.
“Or is this about Tabitha herself? If you loved her, why didn’t you Call to her? Take her as your mate?”
The wanker knows why. Everyone does. And I’d rather not have this discussion. Not here. Not now…when she’s missing. When she’s probably dead, and it’s all moot because I failed her in every way.
But I know Bram. He won’t shut his bloody yap until I answer.
