“No,” the man breathed. “No fucking way.” Hepulled out his phone, thumbed to an image, held it up next to Brandon's face. “Those eyes. Look at his eyes.”
The other operatives crowded closer.
“Is that?—?”
“It is.” The leader's grin was vicious. “Merlin's last descendant. The Consilium has had a standing bounty on this bloodline for six hundred years.And he’s bonded to the witch.”
Brandon's stomach dropped.
“Holy shit,” one of the others whispered. “We hit the jackpot. The keeper's mate AND Myrddin's heir?”
“This is our retirement score, boys.” The leader's hand tightened on Brandon's face. “The Consilium will pay double. Maybe triple.”
Brandon stopped fighting. Not because he'd given up, but because terrible clarity had settled into place.
If they took him, they'd use him to get to Muriel.
Angry or not, hurt or not, she'd try to save him because of the bond. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself.
They'd take her. Take theCodex. Drain her magic until there was nothing left.
Unless.
Brandon reached for the bond with the last threads of conscious magic he had. Not to call for help. Not to warn her.
To hide.
The cloaking spell was delicate, designed for exactly this—to shield the bond from detection, to keep a matefrom feeling pain or danger. It took everything he had left, but he wrapped it around his side of the connection.
The warmth that had been a constant presence went dark.
It was the only way to protect her.
“What the hell is he doing?” one of the operatives asked.
“Doesn't matter. He's suppressed.” The leader lifted his nose and sniffed, then gestured sharply. “Move. We need to be out of here before the bears rise.”
Brandon felt hands dragging him backward. His vision was already graying at the edges, the combination of exhaustion, suppression, and the cloaking spell dragging him under.
His last conscious thought was of Muriel's face, smiling with joy when her magic first touched his. That was the image he’d hold on to.
Then darkness took him.
17
WHEN THE BOND GOES DARK
MURIEL
No gardens this time.Muriel was dreaming of Ireland.
A man—her father?—was running through moonlit woods, defensive magic blazing from his hands as pursuers closed in. Her mother was trapped beneath a powerful shield of protective magic, hidden from those who had come for her. She was screaming his name, her pregnant belly swollen, her face a mask of horror, unable to help as they cut him down?—
Terror slammed through the bond.
Fear, pain, and fury crashed over her like a tidal wave. Not hers—Brandon’s.
Muriel sat bolt upright in the unfamiliar bed, gasping. Her magic surged in response to his distress, plants in the guest room eruptinginto wild growth.