Page 47 of Commanding Flame and Shield
He spoke of his pride at Sam and James being on board, and having his back, and the countless ideas for new ventures he had written in a notebook for the future. The future, I was painfully aware would no longer come to pass, at least not as he had believed it would.
“August!” Layla cries, throwing her arms around my neck, burying her face in my chest…
I jammed my eyes closed, and my hand flew out to find Alec’s. He grimaced at the pang of sadness that radiated from me to him, and his eyes, warm pools of whiskey in the September sun, turned to me. They were as pained as mine felt, and he shook out his tawny hair before gingerly telling Fae it was time to go.
* * *
Your greatest strength is love.That was what the tag to my teabag said, and I flipped the little square of paper between my fingers. Steam swirled in little halos above my cup, and I breathed in the smell of honey and herbs. It was a strange stab to the gut, seeing those words as I lifted our mugs from the bar to bring them to the table. An ironic message, sent from someone with a sense of humor, I was certain. The same culprit also undeniably responsible for the voices of Ray LaMontagne and Sierra Ferrell singing “I Was Born To Love You” over the shop speakers.
We had jumped far enough across the city that August’s thoughts wouldn’t demand my attention, and tucked into a cozy little shop painted in countless colors. While clutter poured from every surface, all the items were new, made as gifts to sell with their refreshments, so the only stories I had to hear were those of the human patrons chattering around their tables. Tearing my attention from the tea tag, I studied the collage of empty golden picture frames on the walls, in bright contrast to the mulberry paint and heavy burgundy tapestries hanging over floor to ceiling windows. The air was thick with steam and espresso, and the merged babble of a dozen voices, their internal echoes audible only to me.
Alec and Fae were each reading books, their backs pressed together on the long, converted church pew piled in soft, velvet cushions the color of eggplant. Fae had kicked off her shoes, and her bare feet were crossed on the cushions. She enjoyed the feeling of velvet on her skin, and she caressed it with her free hand, rubbing patterns in the malleable surface, and then wiping them away again. Her mate’s focus was intent on the literature in his hand. He frequently shared that the best part of our un-aging existence, was he could live a thousand years, and never read all the books committed to paper. Determined as I was to lean into his steady calm, impatience was furling and unfurling in my chest. It had been just over an hour since we’d abandoned August to his heart wrenching task, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of their reunion from my bones.
My stomach twisted painfully at the thought of them touching in that way, with all I knew of his soul. And yet, I had no right to be protective or jealous. He was hers. I had no claim to him, and neither did the coven—his free will was all there was between them. And I had given him all there was to know.
I let out an exasperated huff, and Alec eyed me, tense beneath a facade of calm.
He’s fine. It’s just my nerves.
He dropped his gaze back to his book, nuzzling into Fae a bit more than before. Alec was a gift in my life—more than he possibly knew—and I was grateful for the friendship he offered to August, even if it had taken weeks to earn forgiveness for his brash method of teaching. He was so steady, and slow to anger, that display of theatrics in the cabin was the most dramatic, rash action I’d ever seen him take. The way he guarded our coven, and his unyielding dedication to his bride, had forever cemented the love we had for him. I believed August loved in very much the same way, and somehow, a knowing settled over me that he would come back to us. What felt like an eternity of silence fell over our little group, and I allowed my mind to wander.
When the last afternoon shift-change swapped the little brunette barista for a six-foot man, my nerves bristled, and I looked around for whatever energy had pulled on my mind. I was hit with the familiar scent of sage and pine, and the energy grew in my chest. Suddenly, body moving of its own accord, I was standing, tea abandoned on the table between us. Because August was watching us through the cafe doors, eyes red rimmed and glistening, and he wiped his nose.
I had never felt his energy in defeat before, and it completely undid me. He was anguished, and it felt like he might shatter right there on the sidewalk. I closed the gap between us in long, urgent strides, threw open the shop door with a loud clang against the bell, and wrapped him in a bearhug. With my hands safely tucked in my sleeves, I set one on the back of his neck, and the other wrapped around his broad back, pulling him close to me. He tentatively returned the embrace, paying acute attention to where he placed his hands at the small of my back. He leaned his head forward, as if to bury himself in my hair, and his hesitation broke through me like a kick to the gut. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that I couldn’t comfort him as he needed me to. We held onto each other for a moment, and then I leaned back, ignoring the feel of him wrapped around me, to stare into those bottomless eyes. Words were evading me, so I mentally told him I was sorry, and he nodded and released his hold.
A cleansing breath whooshed into my lungs, and my attention turned to the army bag he had dropped on the sidewalk when he’d seen my intention to collide into him.
“It would’ve been easier if she hated me.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible.”
He gave me a begrudging chuckle, and half-hearted shrug. “Still. It would’ve been easier if she yelled. Or screamed. Or threw me out. She’s too good for me.”
I vehemently disagreed but kept my opinions to myself. It would do no good to voice them while he bathed in grief and an undeserving sense of betrayal. August had reassured Layla that she had no need to leave the condo—the beautiful, modern, home they’d made for themselves. It was hers, indefinitely, and he had no need for her to pay rent as the leases on the building turned a hefty profit, and he wouldn’t feel it one way or the other. A gift of condolence. A heavy tear rolled down his cheek into his beard, and he held out his hand. There, in his palm, was his grandmother’s wedding ring he had proposed with. His fingers trembled, and I pulled my sweatshirt down over my skin, before wrapping his hands up in my own, closing his fist around his ring, needing to stop his shaking.
“She’ll be okay, August. I mean it.”
He nodded, slowly bringing his glossy eyes back to mine. Unblinking, he stared me down with intensity that burned into my core.
“Will you check for me? Did I do the right thing?”
I pulled my hands back from his and swallowed hard. My mind cast into Layla’s future, sorting through hundreds. Many suitors danced on the horizon, some with familiar faces I recoiled from—I wasn’t so sure he’d want to know about the men she could turn to. Some visions were cut short, but those threads were murky at best, leading me to believe she would make choices that led her down one of the longer lifelines.
“There are too many paths right now, August. Losing you is like a big knot. There are literally hundreds of threads erupting away. We have to let her emotions settle, let her make some choices, and the paths will narrow and solidify. There are other variables at play too—”
“She won’t be alone, will she?” His voice was gruff and pained.
My heart sunk at how close a few of the men were in the timeline. It seemed sweet Layla would seek solace in the arms of someone she knew.
I only shook my head, reassuring him. I couldn’t judge her, not for filling a gap in her heart like the one August just inevitably left. But I was certain she would be okay. She just had to choose her paths wisely, and the threads with new love interests all stretched out before her.
Alec and Fae had come out to stand with us, and August gave them a curt nod hello. Finally, he turned to me, took a heaving breath, and said, “Let’s go home.”
NINETEEN
BRIMSTONE
AUGUST
