Her Strength

Missing

Cronan’s POV

A blinding light, a nudge.

    “Bro, you good?”

    A crunch near my head, a gasp, a thump.

    “Tss—motherfu—"

    The scent of blood.  Fresh.  Flowing.

    “Who the f**k would leave a bottle—”

    I sat up, rigid, staring at the wound on the guy’s foot.

    Young.  A kid.  Maybe Violets age.

    My stomach growled.

    “Oh hey,” he muttered, ripping a piece of glass from his heel.  “I was worried you OD’d or—”

    When I pinned him to the floor, teeth ripping at his throat—it wasn’t satisfying.  Didn’t taste right, not just because it was saturated with alcohol and whatever drug he’d dabbled in last night—no.  It wasn’t sweet enough.  Rich enough.  Violet.

    Violet.

    Dropping the kid, he slumped to the ground with a soft groan.

    Glancing about, I realized where I was.  The basement.  The party.

    Violet.

    Where is Violet?

    Standing, I realized I wasn't alone.

    Two other kids, shocked, staring—they fell to the floor upon command.

    I could sense more.  Upstairs.  Stragglers no doubt.

    The house was a wreck and, ripping through the rooms, searching, knocking out every human I made contact with me—she isn’t here.

    I tried calling for her, commanding her—nothing.  Our link was broken.

    Panic.

    It was raw, suffocating.

    I’d never felt it before, not like this, not even when my mother was killed.

    So I ran.

    Straight to her house.

    I climbed into her room, surrounded by her scent, her presence—she was nowhere in the house.      Nowhere.  Panting, lost, I had no idea where to start with the search.

    Who would take her?

    Could she be taken?

    She was pretty capable in a confrontation. Powerful enough to stop me.

    Zech.

    The last time I saw her, she was with—the creak of the door caught my attention.  Olivia had opened the door, her eyes widening a fraction as she took me in, alone, in her daughters’ bedroom.  “Cronan?”

    “Sorry Mrs. Blackwell,” I muttered, commanding her to sleep.  She slumped to the ground with a thud and I just stood there, thinking, assessing.

    I couldn’t figure out what had happened.

    How I’d been knocked out in the first place.

    It had to be Violet.  I remember rushing them, to separate them, to tear Zech apart and then—

    “Cronan?”  A deeper voice, an echo of the feminine one just moments ago.

    Cliff.

    I was still motionless in the room, struggling to understand the situation.

    He was lifting his wife from the ground, moving to lay her down on the bed.  Violet’s bed.

    I growled and he hesitated, frowning.  “What’s going on?”

    “Out.”

    It was a command.  A growl.

    Cliff grimaced, clearly irritated but did as instructed, leaving the room.

    Was this a betrayal?

    Violet . . . with Zechariah?

    “Hmm.”

    Blinking, I turned to find him standing about a foot away.

    His fingers glided over the spine of a book I’d left on her shelf.  The one I’d read time and again trying to solve the mystery of my gold eyed link.

    “Aurelia can really spin a tale, can’t she?”  He plucked the book from the shelf, snapping it open.  I narrowed my eyes, watching with irritation as he licked his finger, flipping through the pages with flair.  “What’s this nonsense about a bonded human controlling her master?”

    Removing all emotion from my expression, I made it a point to not react.

    My father is a volatile creature.  Always has been.

    He looked relaxed, standing there, reading away—but I recognized the tenseness of his shoulders, the familiar dark aura filling the room.

    When it comes to Ezekial Thanisius, it’s always calmest just before the storm.

    “Of course, it couldn’t be true.  Outdone by a lesser being.”  Snapping the book shut, his dark eyes shifted up toward me, his smile tight.  “That would be humiliating, would it?”

    Humiliating.

    “I suppose it would be.”  My voice was smooth, emotionless.  I’d had plenty of practice in handling my father’s moods over the years.

    He quirked a brow.  “Where is she?”

    Playing dumb, I muttered, “Who?”

    “Your bond.”  His smile widened, showing more teeth.  “I want to meet this famed . . . Violet, was it?”

    Grinding my teeth, I kept my mouth shut.  I hated the way her name sounded rolling off of his tongue. More than that, I hated that he’d known to come here.  To this house.  Her house.

    Walking over, toward her bed—I realized what he was about to do and the growl that tore through my chest was loud.  Threatening.

    He hesitated, quirking a brow.  “I just wanted a seat.”  I just narrowed my eyes at him and he maintained eye contact, smile still playing on his lips.  “She means so much to you that you’d hide her from your father?”

    “Yes.”  Believe that I hid her.  Believe it was me.

    I was fine with him believing anything but the truth at this point.

    My bond, my link—she’s gone.  Missing.  And on my watch.

    And she may have chosen to disappear this time.

    Remove herself from me.

    With a tsk, he closed the space between us, looking over my expression closely.  I didn’t flinch.  Didn’t react.  It’s best not to react when he’s toying like this.  “You asked me once.  About a blood bound human’s ability to control their master.”

    Quirking an amused brow, I asked, “And?”

    “Are you struggling with your bond?”  His eyes flashed silver, smile still in place.

    “You would believe one of Aurelia’s fantasies?” I wondered, playing at being amused.

    “Now, now, no reason to fight,” he said, brushing my shoulder.  “Just tell me where she is and—”

    “No.”  Abrupt.  Final.

    My father isn’t fond of that word.

    The only person to use it with him and survive was my mother.

    His expression shifted drastically.  From prodding to bloodthirsty in a split second.  He growled, rearing backwards and I placed the full weight of my authority onto his shoulders.  For the first time in my life, I dropped my father to his knees.  He growled against it, fighting but there was no way to overrun me.  Overrule me. I was younger and, by my birthright, I’d grown to become stronger than my former. Forcing him downward, I pushed him into the pose of submission, head bowing deeply, forehead nearly touching the floor—

    “What is going—”

    Cliff’s voice broke my concentration and I lost my hold on my father for just a second.  My eyes snapped to the man standing in the doorway, his dark eyes focused on the explosive creature who’d just scuttled out his daughters window like a scared mouse.

    There was just a beat of silence.  “I remember him differently,” Cliff admitted quietly.

    My eyes shifted back to the empty window, frowning.  “Me too.”

    My father had fled the fight.

    I’d never seen him lose—let alone run away.  I always thought his pride wouldn’t allow such a thing, that when we finally came to a head, I’d have to kill him because he wouldn’t stop coming at me.  The man who’d traumatized me, terrorized me for most of my childhood, just . . . ran away from me.

    This was oddly anticlimactic.

    Shameful, even.

    For some reason, it felt like a let down.

    Then, as if to add salt to the wound, Cliff asked the million dollar question:  “Where’s Violet?”