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“Clara?” The worry had never left Bronze’s voice since they’d first entered the receiving room, but it had shifted into something tinged with unease. When he said her name again, she recognized why the word sounded so off, so wrong.
There was no confidence in it.
That was when the first tear threatened to fall because she knew the words in her hands were true.
So she called on the Moon Mother for strength as she took in the sight of her soul-bonded mate and asked, “After you left my room the night we first made love, did you go to the royal coffers to try and steal from my father?”
Chapter 32
Bronze’s head was hammering against his skull as if his brain matter was a kidney stone being worked over with the most efficient ultrasonic propulsion. And if that wasn’t enough, he still wasn’t entirely certain he had it in him to stand still while Broderick and his boys dragged a muzzled-and-leashed wolf out of the room by his tail like some animal control trophy capture.
Except it wasn’t a trophy. It—because Bronze was so not ready to believe there was anything worth dignifying as a male in that piece of shit—was a king. Clara’s king. Her father.
And, as far as Bronze was concerned, on borrowed fucking time in terms of breaths left.
When Halpin shifted and lunged for Clara, Bronze’s soul had punched into action before his muscles had a chance to regroup, so deep was the shock of seeing a male of her own blood coming at her with a ferocity strictly reserved for enemies. But after so long without Bronze’s power, he couldn’t yet trust in its accuracy or strength. One millimeter off and Bronze could fry Clara instead of the king. Instead, he’d turned to what he knew would see him through and what had been tested time and again over the past several days: his strength.
It was just enough of a successful trust exercise to convince Bronze that, yes, he was fully capable of sinking into his power, calling forth his full angel fire and wielding it with ease.
Of course the first time he’d become whole in soul and strength would also be the first time his full power was called into service for Clara’s protection.
So that was why, after the king had been dragged away, Bronze’s brain was spinning out, his powers cowering on the fritz, and his heart slowing to a worrisome degree when Clara looked up at him from the note she’d been holding.
She spoke the words again, with clear diction and enunciation, to ensure there was no possible confusion as to what she was asking.
Which made total fucking sense. Because when you were accusing your soul bond of ulterior motives, you needed to make damn sure he had all the rope he needed to hang himself.
For the first time in all his years, Bronze didn’t know how to respond. Oh, the rest of his body sure as shit knew to freak out and panic, but the part of his brain responsible for the sweet care and protection of his female had nothing, and maybe that was a relief, because lies never stuck around to see the fruits of their labor.
No, they were always the first to get good and gone, leaving the hard truth to clean up the mess they’d made.
“May I see what you’re reading?” he asked over a hard swallow.
“No. You may answer my question first.”
He knew better than to take a step forward, even though he was a blink away from rushing to her just so his body could impress the truth of his being into hers and chase the doubt of his lying words away.
There was no question in his mind. She knew. He didn’t know how, but she knew, and if he wanted any hope of keeping her in his life, he had to give her what she was asking for.
“It was my original plan to retrieve an item, yes, but it had nothing to do with making love to you.”
A gripping chill crept over the stone walls, blanketing the room in a cold that seemed to freeze everything in place. Clara, likewise, stood frozen, her face a mask of smooth indifference and quiet calm.
When she spoke, only her lips moved. “Your . . . relations with me were secondary to your true goal? A goal that would have you stealing from my people?”
“No! No. Fuck, Clara, you weren’t secondary to anything. Please, what are you holding?”
“Are you asking me so you can ensure your story is in line with what I have discovered?”
Cold. Her words were so cold, they cut through him like jagged icicles.
“I don’t understand,” he admitted honestly, and even that small acquiescence to the truth seemed to help thaw the tight band around his heart, just enough so the withered muscle could start to bleed out.
Clara held the paper out to him between the tips of two fingers, offering up only what contact was required. “This is an official missive from Lord Raff to my father, dated the morning before he died. I have verified the seal and handwriting as his own.”
Bronze stepped forward lightly and took the note she offered, but he didn’t linger at her side, instead shrinking back to the place he’d previously occupied across the rug. Like a fucking coward.
After a few hard blinks, he managed to make the words coalesce into something that resembled paragraphs, though none were what he wanted to read.
