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He hadn’t been able to look away from her. She’d made him feel something he didn’t understand. His life had been all work and preparation for becoming a warlock. Life was very staid amongst sorcerers and emotions weren’t something his sorcerer kin expressed.
Eventually, she’d glanced up at him, spearing him with her sharp gaze. “Do you need something?”
“Your name,” he’d said.
“I’d hardly say youneedthat.”
“But I do.”
She shrugged. “Sofia Viera.”
Beautiful. Like her. “What are you?”
She raised a brow. “Don’t you know that’s rude?”
“Is it?” With her, he lost his mind a bit.
Apparently, he still lost his mind when it came to her. He’d only been back with her for a few hours and he was reeling. This wasn’t how he’d expected to feel when he’d forced her to come to him. In fairness, when he’d come up with this plan, he hadn’t done much thinking about what would occur after he had her here. He’d just known that he was done being without her. For centuries, he’d thought he was fine the way he was. He had as much power and wealth as any Mythean could want.
It wasn’t enough.
Now he had to go up against the Salem Coven—and possibly the High Witches if they failed to get the Grimoire—or he’d lose more than Sofia. As much as his ego hated to admit it, they might need help. Not tomorrow. But if everything went to shit, they’d need someone to call on.
He wouldn’t risk Sofia’s life like that.
Malcolm set the tumbler on the mantle above the blazing hearth and envisioned his brother’s home in Iceland. A second later, he stood on the doorstep. Frigid wind whipped off the glacier, freezing his skin. The Aurora Borealis danced overhead—blues and greens lighting up the night and making the snow sparkle.
He knew why his brother had chosen to live on a godforsaken patch of ice in the middle of nowhere, but the Vatnajokull glacier was not where he’d have chosen. He might be a loner, but this was taking it too far.
Malcolm pounded on the heavy wooden door, eyeing the golden glow of the windows to his left. This place always looked like a bloody Christmas card. Pretty cabin, snow-covered eaves, windows lit with warm light. He’d love to just aetherwalk in, but his brother had a new bride and well… Best not to.
At least they appeared to be here. They’d spent the last several months traveling.
Finally, the door swung open to reveal Aurora, his brother’s mate. She wore flannel pajamas that were decorated with pumpkins and black cats.
“Malcolm!” Her golden brows rose.
All of Aurora was golden, from her skin to her hair and eyes. She was a soulceress, one of the most despised species among Mytheans because her kind got their magical power by stealing it from the souls of other Mytheans. Whereas all other Mytheans could draw power from the aether using their immortal soul—and that’s what actually fueled the unique magic each species was capable of—Soulceresses could not. They took it from others. It made them immensely powerful and equally despised.
It didn’t bother Malcolm because he had unlimited access to the power of the aether, so he just let a smile crack his face.
“Aurora.” She and Felix would be a great help to them if he needed to call upon them. Neither were as powerful as he—almost no one was, he wasn’t too modest to admit—but there was strength in numbers when all else failed.
“Come on in,” she stepped back to let him in. The cabin was cozy and warm, the large living room lit by a crackling fire that gleamed on the honey-colored wooden wall. Aurora’s familiar, a sleek black cat named Mouse, watched him from the back of the couch. Her golden eyes were luminous, her posture straight.
He recalled that Mouse liked to play. As an afterthought, he waved his hand near the floor and a rat made of smoke darted across the floor. Mouse leapt off the couch and streaked after it.
“You like familiars,” Aurora said.
He shrugged and was saved from answering when his brother entered the room.
Felix was as big as he was, though younger. They shared a father—the man who’d given them the wulver half of their soul. Felix’s mother had been a timewalker. Time travel was a powerful strength, but Malcolm would take his own mother’s powers any day. The sorcerer half of him had given him the magical ability necessary to become a warlock.
A twinge of regret streaked through him.
Regret? No. Definitely not. He pushed the strange feeling aside and greeted his brother.
“Good to have you visit,” Felix said, glancing at the clock. “At two in the morning.”
