Shortbread and Shadows - Amy Lane Page 0,58

to flop awkwardly to the ground at any moment, but with one target in mind.

Lachlan. Oh God.

“May our truth protect us, so may it be,” Bartholomew said, his voice rising. The crow stretched out its talons, reaching for something—Lachlan’s skin? His face? “His amulet!” he squeaked, and the rest of them saw where he was looking. Jordan and Josh squeezed his hand tightly, probably to keep him from breaking ranks, and they all shouted at the same time.

“May our truth protect us, so may it be!”

A fragmented rainbow of power crackled in the sky above them, like an aurora borealis or the static charge of a failed lightning bolt, and the birds all fell out of the trees, apparently stunned. The crow that had come after Lachlan stayed conscious just long enough to snag the amulet at Lachlan’s throat, and Bartholomew gave a cry of pain as Lachlan beat the bird away from his face.

“Don’t let him have it!” Bartholomew cried, falling to his knees. “Don’t let him—”

“Get thee gone, fucker!” Lachlan snarled, and the next sound they all heard was a thump as Lachlan got a good hit in and the bird was thrown hard into the side of the truck. It lay there, indignant but stunned, and the savage ripping in Bartholomew’s chest faded, giving him a moment to breathe.

“Oh my God,” Jordan muttered. “Bartholomew, are you all right?”

“Tolly?” Lachlan thundered toward them, and Bartholomew struggled to his feet.

“Fine,” he muttered, although he wasn’t even close to fine. “Oh God, that hurt. I didn’t… I didn’t expect that!”

Jordan and Josh relinquished his hands, and Lachlan folded him into his chest. “Oh baby,” he murmured. “That… that sucked. You… you looked like you were having a heart attack.”

“Felt like it was being ripped out of my body,” Bartholomew said, wanting to go back to the part of the day when they were both naked and making love and happy. “Oh my God, you’re totally right—that sucked.”

“Lachlan,” Jordan said quietly, “can I see your amulet for a moment—no, don’t take it off.”

Lachlan was big enough that he kept Bartholomew under one shoulder while he turned his body to let Jordan give his amulet a closer look.

“Oh!” Jordan said, sounding surprised. “Well, shit. Bartholomew, you really did work something powerful here. Are you wearing a symbol for Lachlan on yours?”

“A s-saw,” Bartholomew said, shivering. The sun was hitting the cul-de-sac full force, which meant the temperature had just dropped as dawn broke. “Why?”

“Because you both claimed the other’s sigil. Why did you do that?”

Bartholomew frowned. “Isn’t that… I mean, isn’t that what couples do? With symbols?”

Jordan’s laugh was a wee bit on the hysterical side. “Usually when they’re married, Barty. These—I hope you guys are true love always, okay? Because undoing this magic to take these off is going to be a real pain in the ass. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that yarn that was holding them on yesterday changed to a silver chain sometime in the night. These are wedding necklets, so, uh, mazel tov, you’re a couple. For maybe the rest of your lives.”

Bartholomew laughed helplessly. “Sorry, Lachlan. I bet you would have settled for coffee.” But his voice came out a little broken, because he’d tried to say these were serious, but he wasn’t sure if either of them knew what they were getting into.

“Don’t worry about it, Tolly,” Lachlan murmured, kissing his forehead. “I knew. Before I even saw the light show, I knew what I was getting into. Don’t regret it yet—you?”

Bartholomew thought of the ripping pain in his chest, thought of how if he wasn’t careful, if he wasn’t brave, he could give Lachlan that same pain, and Lachlan might not survive.

“I’ll be brave for you,” he said, squeezing Lachlan tight. “I’ll be so brave.”

“Be brave in a few more minutes, okay, Tolly?” Lachlan rumbled. “I sort of need to hold you just another minute more.”

EVERYBODY else had to go inside—it was in the forties and nobody had been dressed warmly. Even Bartholomew and Lachlan, in their hooded sweatshirts and jeans, were shivering by the time they loaded up their vehicles.

Which nobody questioned—which was nice. Bartholomew still couldn’t say why he had to go to the damned Fantasmagoricon. It seemed like the height of folly.

All he knew was that after two years of not yielding to his instinct about Lachlan, not trusting himself enough to hold a real conversation with the man who had obviously been hoping for the same happy ending