The evening had been a blur. Fleeing Mathias and the Anarki had been harrowing. All that climbing in trees and hunkering down inside bushes had been unnerving … but markedly less so with Ice’s protective presence beside her. Thankfully, her plan had worked. His relief when she reappeared within the half hour had been foolishly intriguing. Did he actually care about her beyond his own survival? With that question swirling in her mind, they’d slipped away from the Anarki.

Covered in mud and uttering few syllables, Ice directed her southwest, just over the Welsh border to Monmouth. Not far out of town, they’d found this charming stone bed-and-breakfast. Very out of the way, and Sabelle had used some of her siren gifts to persuade the manager that they had reservations for the night and had paid in advance.

Once inside, they’d locked all the doors and windows, and she’d ringed the place with her magical securities. Ice had done the same. As far as they could tell, no Anarki had followed them, but better to play it safe.

Then, despite being covered in mud, Ice offered her the shower first.

Though labeled by magickind somewhere between crazy and dangerous, he had put both her safety and comfort above his own time after time. Odd, considering he hated Bram.

Then again, every time she got near Ice, his body told Sabelle that he wanted her.

Quickly, she’d showered and settled Bram into one of the cottage’s two bedrooms. The smoke around her brother looked thicker, darker, than before. Cloying, choking. The labored sound of his breathing terrified her. His magical signature was fading … which meant his life would soon follow if they couldn’t find a way to break Mathias’s terrible spell.

Frustration eating at her like a disease, Sabelle slammed the door. She hated feeling helpless, but watching her brother die weighed her down with a sense of being powerless.

Taking Bram’s hand in hers, she crouched at the side of his bed and bowed in prayer, her forehead touching his unresponsive hand. This was not her brother. Bram was vital and bossy and amazing—and the only parental figure she’d ever really had. Lord knew her selfish mother had never cared for her, beyond however much offspring with Merlin’s blood in her veins was worth. Losing Bram … Devastating wouldn’t begin to describe her loss. She’d envisioned him beside her as she took a mate, had younglings, grew older. They’d laughed and fought and helped each other. Their bond, always strong, had become stronger since Mathias’s return. Eradicating magickind of the cancer the evil wizard spread through society was Bram’s most passionate cause. Sabelle didn’t know how she’d finish that work without him.

Hot tears stabbed at her eyes again. Exhaustion and fear overtook her defenses. Two minutes. She’d give in that long, then put on her brave face. Ice would want nothing to do with her tears. They had no time for foolishness.

Suddenly, the door to Bram’s bedroom whooshed open and bounced off the wall beside him. There stood Ice.

Sabelle leapt to her feet with a startled gasp, aware of hot tears burning her cheeks—and her stare glued to his body. Wearing nothing but a towel, he scanned the room for danger with wild eyes. Rivulets of water caressed their way down his corded neck, over his bulging shoulders that ate up the door frame, across a chest no doubt capable of bench-pressing a bus, and along the ridges of his six-pack abs … before being lapped up by the towel riding dangerously low on his lean hips. Dear God.

Finding the room empty of Anarki, Ice turned his fierce green eyes on her. They flared with heat. Her body sizzled as if she kissed a live wire.

“What’s wrong?” he barked.

“I—I . . .” She couldn’t find her tongue.

“I heard a door slam. Has anyone come? Are you in danger?”

Trembling, she ripped her gaze away from his massive chest rising and falling with each rushed breath.

“No.” She swallowed. “Sorry. Just me. I … was frustrated. Bram’s getting worse.”

Tears threatened again, and she didn’t want to show Ice her weakness. His body might want her, but the way he called her princess, almost a sneer … No. She wouldn’t reveal her vulnerabilities and give him a reason to mock her later.

Despite her resolution, a fat tear rolled down her cheek and dropped onto the inn’s black silk robe she’d wrapped around her. She swiped at her wet cheek.

Ice charged across the room. He reached out to take her hand, then stopped before touching her, his tattooed biceps flexing with restraint. Quickly, he glanced at Bram. His mouth took a grim turn down.

“Have you any other ideas that might heal him?”

Another painful weight settled on her heart. “None. Were you able to reach Duke and the others while I showered?”

“I don’t dare. If they’re being followed as well, any magical summons before we’re truly safe could be dangerous for all of us. And I didn’t have my damn mobile with me when the Anarki attacked.”

“Me, either. The phone in this cottage only rings the front desk; I checked. We’ll find a phone tomorrow.”

Ice nodded, then edged back. “I ordered food earlier. It should be here shortly.”

A lovely gesture, but Bram’s condition ruined her appetite. What if her brother never opened his eyes again?

Fear welled up inside her, and to her horror, fresh tears rushed. She couldn’t contain the flood. Her breath caught, and her vision blurred. Scalding tears rolled out of the corners of her eyes. She swiped at them, but couldn’t catch them fast enough.

Oh, God. She was again crying in front of Isdernus Rykard, for whom sympathy was likely as welcome as syphilis. His personality often matched his name, and magickind regarded him as both ruthless and crazed. A man like him doubtless had no patience for weepy women, particularly not when times called for strong ones.

Sabelle slapped a hand over her mouth and raced past Ice toward the bedroom door. His hot hand clamped around her upper arm and hauled her back, dangerously close to his large, warm body, still beaded with water.

With his free hand, he pulled hers from her mouth, staring at her with an expression somewhere between probing and puzzled. “Don’t fret. We will see him well.”

The gentle note in his voice shocked her, brought forth a fresh well of tears. “How? Th-that smoke is a mystery. No one has b-been able to figure—”

“Shh.” He laid a soft finger across her lips.

Ice’s touch on her sensitive mouth jolted her, as if her entire body was connected to her lips. “Don’t think him into the grave.”

She sent him a shaky nod. Positive thoughts would help her brother more than fear. “You’re right.” Drawing in a trembling breath, she felt the onslaught of more tears. Angrily, she wiped them away. “I’m sorry to be a weepy mess.”

He drew in a deep breath, his chest expanding. She winced, waiting for him to scold or bellow at her. Instead, he pulled her against him, pressing her body to his with an arm around her waist. He buried his fingers in her hair. A million starbursts erupted, scattered over her scalp, her very skin. The sensation sank bone deep, fracturing her thoughts, her composure, her heartbeat. His heat seeped into her, cementing his impact on her, searing it inside her. He was hard. Again. Sabelle sucked in a breath.

“No apologies for tears. Bonds between siblings can be strong.”

He had siblings? Apparently. His statement proved how little she knew of him, and for once, it was frustrating not to be able to read someone’s mind.

“Tears won’t help now. I know that,” she offered. “I should be planning what else I can do to help Bram, how I can get him to safety, where I go from here, what—”

“We,” Ice murmured in her ear as gently as his rough voice allowed. “My shoulders are strong. Let me take some of the weight of that responsibility. Now, we must rely on each other.”

So solid against her, he didn’t feel like her brother’s enemy. He didn’t sound insane, but capable and willing. She wondered exactly who Ice was.

Sabelle pulled back and stared as if she could reason him out like a puzzle. “You’re awfully kind to me.”

His face closed up. “Any reason I shouldn’t be?”

“You and my brother . . .” Hate each other? Try to kill one another at every possible turn?

“The enmity between Bram and me has nothing to do with you.”

His eyes glowed so green in the low light filtering in from the next room and moonlight beaming through the fog-shrouded window. He looked so intense in every way: determined thoughts, dominant stare, fierce desire.

It had been easy to write Ice off as a madman, especially given his mysterious and eternal hatred for Bram. But he’d given her the very sweater off his back, then soothed her grief about a man he loathed. Why?

Sabelle doubted he would answer if she asked. Besides, she had to focus now on Bram.

“I don’t know what else to do for him.” Her gaze flickered back to her brother. Fear raked its cold claws through her, and she tried to suppress the shiver.

“Right now? Nothing.”

That reality brought a new cascade of tears. God, her eyes were gritty now. Fatigue beat at her, and crying didn’t help. Why couldn’t she stop?

“Damn it,” Ice muttered.

Sabelle cringed. Of course he was annoyed. Tears accomplished nothing. He didn’t need to be dancing attendance to her, but keeping them safe and getting the Doomsday Diary back into hiding. This foolishness needed to stop.

Before she could apologize again, Ice bent to her, lifting her in his arms against that inferno chest. She choked in surprise, and her stomach fluttered. Actually fluttered as if she’d swallowed butterflies, as it never had in her nearly eighty-five years.

Then he marched out of Bram’s bedroom and back into the main room. He set her on the sofa, near the cheery fire he’d started as soon as the cottage had been secured. He sat beside her and reached for her hand. The contact charged her with an electric need. Yet with him, she felt safe. Cared for, even, though she had no doubt that Bram would forbid this or any kind of comfort from Ice.

She stared at his hand over hers, his hair-roughened knuckles swallowing her fingers. “Ice, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. You’re worried about your brother. I understand.”

How could he possibly? “Do you have a brother?”

“No.” Something in his face warned her to stop asking questions. She took the silent advice. After his kindness, she shouldn’t pry.

“It’s just … Bram has practically raised me. I owe him everything.”

Ice clenched his jaw, but nodded. “of course.”

Right, then. Time for a change of subject. He wasn’t one for chatter, clearly. Tonight, she yearned to pour out her fears and feelings. Exhaustion and fear overwhelmed her. All her support … scattered to the winds. Olivia and Sydney were hopefully hiding safely with their mates. Bram was unconscious. Lucan had gone with his brother.

She was completely alone with a man she barely knew, one most regarded as mad.

Sabelle bit her lip. A glance told her that Ice still watched her, his stare unblinking. What the devil was he thinking?

He shifted closer, and the towel parted, leaving one powerful thigh—and the dark shadows in between—exposed. Sabelle tried not to stare. But the dusting of dark hair on his thighs grew more dense at the top of his leg, and she found herself insanely curious about what he had under that towel, if all of him was that large.

Heat crept up her face. Damn. She was probably turning ten shades of red.

“Do you … ah, need to finish your shower now?” She looked anywhere but at him.

The fire crackled. The air stilled. The silence deafened. Her mouth turned dry.

“No.” He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “Are you all right?”

Sabelle tore away from his grasp. Times were serious. Desperate. She had no business staring, no matter how much her eyes fancied the visual candy. “Fine.”

“Don’t lie.”

My, he is blunt. Then again, everything about him was. Hair, manner, stare, words—all of it no-nonsense. She needed to adjust, remember he was no diplomat, nothing like the Council members she’d dealt with of late. Clearly, Ice was used to rolling up his sleeves and accomplishing whatever he set out to achieve.

“Don’t push,” she shot back. “It’s not important now.”

“The devil it’s not. If you need something—”

“I will deal with it.”

His green eyes flashed, then his expression turned flat, cold. He withdrew his hand from hers, that tattooed biceps flexing again, now in anger. “Naturally.”

There was a wealth of meaning behind that one word. “What does that mean?”

He raised a slash of dark brow. The firelight illuminated his face, and she noticed for the first time a slashing diagonal scar through the middle of that brow. In fact, he bore the proof of a nasty gash on the top of his shoulder, and a mark around each wrist. Magickind healed faster and more efficiently than humans. It was fairly rare to retain scarring for more than a few months. But these wounds looked very old, indeed.