Page 33 of Centaur Soar


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He read something of it in my eyes, and halted.

I took a long step into his space and, before he could move, grabbed onto his hand. The fingers were long-boned and lean, and I wove my small ones into them. The surge through our contact took my breath away. I held him still through the link, and stepped in close.

He raised a hand to touch my hair so lightly, as though he expected me to shatter in an instant. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “And so real.”

I smiled up at him. “There is a theory around that,” I said. “Some would say that this is real.”

His arched brows drew down. His face could have been an artist’s masterpiece, the features so perfect they were almost angelic. “A dream is a dream,” he said, but he didn’t sound too certain.

He’d never heard of the shifter mate thing? “I’ve been told that Fate plays with your dreams. That sometimes, they are real.”

He stiffened. “This can’t be real.”

I offered a sly half-smile. “I used to think so too. But recent events have shown me otherwise.”

His beautiful bicolored eyes gleamed at me. “So you’re really here?”

“I think so, yes. As are you.”

“I don’t dream much,” he confessed, “Because I don’t sleep much.” Something altered for just an instant, deep within his eyes. There, and then gone. “And you don’t want to share anything with me,” he whispered.

“I think Fate has other ideas.”

He snorted in contempt, his gaze skating away from me. “Fate has never done me any favors.”

Following it, I finally saw what lay beyond him. Two mounds of earth, each with a wooden cross at one end.

Graves.

“My parents,” he said, then added. “The ones who raised me. My birth mother is dead, too.”

The words were laced with pain. “I’m sorry,” I said. “What happened?”

“Isobel.” He spat the word. “She killed them all. Except for my biological father. But he is dead, now, too.”

Isobel. My own rage rose. “That woman is evil to the core. And she has to be stopped.” I stepped closer to him, waiting until his eyes came back to mine. “Rafael. Do you know where Isobel is keeping you?”

His mouth twisted again. “No. But she has the children now. They are in the same place I am. A stronghold belonging to Brock, a Dragon overlord.”

“But you don’t know which stronghold?”

He started to shake his head, but then he stopped. “It’s in the mountains.”

I squeezed his hand. “Have you seen the children? Are they okay?”

“So far.” He swallowed. “She’s convincing them that they can become superheroes and rescue the realms. Hasn’t told them yet that some will die in the process.”

I took his other hand, too. “I am a Jumper. I might be able to rescue them, but I need a visual reference. Can you tell me anything that might help?”

His eyes widened at that admission, but then his brows dropped, and he answered. “The children are being kept in a large room that might have been a library, lots of shelves along the walls, although many are empty. And it opens through double glass doors into a garden, so they have room to play outside.”

It surprised me. “They aren’t chained?”

His expression sagged. “No. But they are closely guarded. She wants their consent. Their willing participation.” He hesitated, and then added, “She’s using my talent to get them to agree. I can—convince—them.”

Everything about him radiated shame. “Is she forcing you?”

He looked away. “The bloodmagic is too strong. I can’t fight it.”