The Curse by Sherrilyn Kenyon, Dianna Love Page A

of blurred colors calmed until he floated in a cloudlike haze. Entrance to the castle required Brina to offer invitation each time Tzader visited in holographic form.
    He called to her telepathically. Brina, I’m here .
    At one time, he’d have gotten an immediate answer. A breathless answer filled with anticipation.
    Nothing. He shouldn’t be surprised since he hadn’t heard from her in weeks and their last meeting had ended poorly, but as the minutes stretched on, the delay bordered on insult.
    You are welcome to enter, Tzader Burke.
    He considered several smart replies and decided raising her hackles would not set the right tone for this meeting.
    When the cloud dissipated, he stood in hologram form inside the great hall of Treoir Castle.
    And there was Brina. She lounged on a sofa her da had carved from the trunk of a tree. It was intricately detailed with Celtic family emblems. Hair the color of a river on fire lay across her shoulders in a loose, tousled way that took him back to when he could touch her and run his hands through the fine strands.
    The triangular Celtic Triquetra, mark of the Beladors, had been stitched in white on the cuffs of her radiant deep-green gown. This woman had taken his breath away when she’d worn baggy pants and a faded shirt for training as a warrior.
    He’d waited four long years to touch her again and would wait an eternity if Macha had not forced a promise from him to allow Brina to move on with her life and marry.
    According to Macha, Brina claimed she was ready to produce an heir.
    Without Tzader.
    He’d never suffered a wound so painful as how those words had gutted him.
    Macha made it sound like a case of logic. The Beladors needed a Treoir heir to safeguard their future. Brina couldn’t leave, and Tzader couldn’t enter.
    Tzader had been raised to understand that sacrifice was part of being a warrior, but he’d never expected to give up something so precious.
    “You’ve a report?” Brina asked with a brisk efficiency that exaggerated her Irish lilt.
    “Hello to you, too,” he snapped back at her, leaving off Your Highness at the end. Why did she sound as though he were interrupting her day? She’d called this meeting after all.
    “Very well. Hello, Tzader. I’m wantin’ news on the traitor. Have you run down the rat yet?”
    She’d had the same uncharacteristic waspish tone last time, part of the reason Tzader had given in to Macha’s wishes. In that last meeting, Brina had been clear about both of them accepting their impossible situation.
    Ready to move on. That’s how she’d put it.
    He admitted, “Nothing on the traitor yet.”
    “I expected to be hearin’ we were closer to findin’ O’Meary.” She sat more upright, her fingers flitting around until they settled together in her lap.
    Nervous? Was she as unhappy about ending their relationship as he was? Maybe reconsidering …
    Her gaze had been as active as her hands until she glanced up and caught him studying her. That put a steel rod in her backbone and grit in her voice. “I still cannot believe he escaped from VIPER lockdown. ’Tis unheard of. Someone must have helped him.”
    “I agree.” And I accept the blame since the responsibility is all mine and I just hope — Tzader paused mentally when a guard entered the room from the front hall.
    Like all Treoir guards, this one wore an emerald-green and black vest with black pants and a Belador sword in a scabbard that hung against his back.
    As Tzader started to admonish the guard for interrupting a meeting, Brina turned her head and … smiled ? “I’ll be with you in a minute, Allyn. This won’t be takin’ long.”
    The guard— Allyn? —nodded and retreated to the main hall.
    She resumed her imperial pose where she perched on the sofa, and her personality flatlined again. “As you were sayin’, Tzader?”
    “We’ve had an unusual number of gang battles.”
    “Oh, please. If I were wantin’ a crime report, I’d be askin’ Macha