Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,100
him, though. Whitt sits slumped against the footboard of his bed alone, his head tipped back as he drains the dregs from a goblet. A large bottle of absinthe sits beside him, only a thin ring left in the bottom. Its heady, sour scent fills the room.
Has he gone through that entire thing tonight? It’s not like my older half-brother to get drunk to the point of stinking, especially on his own.
As he glances up at me, the swaying of his torso while he repositions himself not giving me much confidence that he’ll be any help at all, I rein in my annoyance. He couldn’t have known we might need him.
“Looking awfully serious, li’l brother,” he slurs. “Have some of this to ease your spirits.” He waggles the bottle in my direction and then focuses blearily on it, his face falling as he must realize there’s none left to share.
Skies above, I can’t remember the last time I saw him so inebriated he couldn’t even talk straight. He hasn’t been far gone enough to call me “little brother” rather than “my lord” or at least “Sylas” since I took Hearthshire. What’s gotten into him?
I don’t have time to try to shake him out of it. “Have you seen Talia?” I ask.
His gaze sharpens then, the haze clearing for an instant. His mouth forms a grimace, and he sets the bottle down with a thump. “Why would I have?”
August comes up beside me, his unusually grim expression giving away the bad news before he speaks. “There’s no sign of her anywhere.”
I exhale slowly, willing the turmoil inside me to settle. She couldn’t have left the keep. I set the spells on the doors myself before I came upstairs with her. I didn’t even think I needed them after she decided to stay rather than go through with her first escape attempt.
“Maybe we’ve just missed her,” I say. “Let’s go through the keep from top to bottom together. Call her name as well as looking into each room. She’ll be here somewhere. You take the rooms to the left, and I’ll take the right.”
August nods without a moment’s hesitation. Whatever tensions had risen between us, they’ve fallen away now that we face a shared concern. I can’t forget that he earned his spot as a trusted member of my cadre.
As I turn from the doorway, Whitt lurches to his feet. From his bedroom doorway, he watches us begin our sweep. The ruddiness of intoxication still colors his face and neck, and his gaze veers at odd moments, but he’s holding himself up steadily enough.
He wouldn’t be a trusted member of my cadre if I didn’t know he’s rarely as soused as he lets himself appear to be.
“You lost the mite?” he says, and chuckles hoarsely. “One slip of a human girl giving two big bad fae quite the run-around.”
I don’t need his snarky remarks. “Help us look, or keep quiet,” I bark at him.
We head downstairs, and he shuffles after us, seemingly more out of curiosity than with any intention of assisting.
“Did you check the pantry?” August asks. When I shake my head, hope lights his face. I head into the kitchen after him, scanning the space between the counters and the islands, the chairs in the parlor—
My deadened eye prickles. A ghostly figure swims into my vision. The specter of Talia grasps the back door, her expression so miserable it makes my throat constrict. She tugs, and it opens.
I stop in my tracks, staring, but the image is gone. It can’t be from her first escape attempt—she was at the front door then. And how can I imagine it’s from some future moment when she’s missing right now?
My voice comes out rough. “She isn’t in the pantry, is she?”
August emerges, the hope that kindled in him faded but not gone. “No. There’s still a lot more—”
I cut him off. “She’s gone. Out that door.” I stride up to it and can sense before I even reach it that the magic in the lock has dispersed.
Nothing moves on the starlit field beyond the windows. How long ago did she take flight?
August sucks in a startled breath. “How? I swear she didn’t have salt this time.”
“I know.” He gave me his word when I laid into him over that indiscretion before, and I have enough faith in him that I wouldn’t have asked. “She must have discovered some other trick. Maybe her blood gave her the ability to crack the spell.” Who can